


The Life and Times of Charlie Kelly's Transition

by adrianicsea



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Gen, Recreational Drug Use, Transphobia, occasional charden subtext?, rape and underage warnings are for uncle jack's general awfulness-- NOT GRAPHIC but still there, show-typical macdennis subtext, subtle charliemac that may or may not become Full Charliemac eventually, trans!charlie, transmisogyny in chapter 10
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-08-10 06:36:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7834060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianicsea/pseuds/adrianicsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From what little reading he’s managed to do (or had read to him) about it, Charlie Kelly gets the impression that he’s had an easier time being trans than a lot of other guys have, all things considered. He’s always just been Charlie, ever since he was little.<br/>Exactly what it says on the tin: a look at some of the milestones in Charlie's life as a trans guy, with some possible subtle Charlie/Mac if you squint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. haircuts & boyhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie got his hair cut and figured himself out at a relatively young age.

Charlie’s mom is sitting alone at the kitchen table with a tall bottle when Charlie runs in one day, bouncing with excitement. If she notices, she doesn’t act like it. It doesn’t bother Charlie—she’s always like that after her company leaves.

“Mom, can I get my hair cut short?!” Charlie asks, though it really comes out as more of a yell. Moving as though she’s hearing her child for the first time, Mom turns to stare. For some reason, it feels like she’s looking right through Charlie.

She’s quiet, too quiet, just for a second. Then she smiles and nods.

“Of course, Charlie. Go get me the scissors, and I’ll do it right now, okay?”

Charlie yells again and runs off in search of the scissors. When Charlie returns a few moments later, Mom smiles and scoots back in her chair, patting her lap in invitation. Charlie grins and takes a running leap, wriggling into place while handing over the scissors.

They talk as Charlie’s mom works. Charlie talks about the kitten that was behind the Dumpster that day, and Mom tells Charlie that Uncle Jack – “Oh, you remember him, Charlie, he visited just last week!” – may be coming back to visit soon, maybe even to live with them. Charlie is excited about that. Uncle Jack is the coolest; last time he visited, he even brought Charlie a Darth Vader action figure as a gift.

After they’re all done, Charlie’s mom takes a look at her work. Charlie’s hair is now a short, choppy, fluffy mess that easily adds 2 inches of height to her child’s tiny frame.

Charlie loves it.

* * *

Uncle Jack has been living with them for six months.

Uncle Jack says Charlie is pretty. He holds Charlie too tight at night and tells Charlie secrets that Charlie has to promise not to share.

Uncle Jack says Charlie is a beautiful girl. That’s why Charlie gets so much attention from him.

Charlie’s mom is sitting alone at the kitchen table with a bottle again, but this time she’s reading the morning paper and humming to herself. Charlie steps into the room softly, usual pep missing in action.

“Mom?” Charlie asks, voice small. She hums in acknowledgement, though she doesn’t look up from the paper. Charlie actually hesitates for a second before speaking.

“Mom, I don’t like being a girl. I’m gonna be a boy from now on.”

Charlie’s mom hums again. She turns the page of the newspaper.

“Of course, Charlie.”

Charlie blinks. That was easy. Still, it solves his problem, so he nods and smiles.

“Thanks, Mom! You’re the best.”

Then he takes off running. His mom, still humming, grabs the bottle and takes another swig.

* * *

 

That night, Charlie is waiting when Uncle Jack comes into the room. He’s standing on his bed, pointing a defiant finger at Uncle Jack.

“You can’t tell me secrets anymore, Uncle Jack!” Charlie shouts. Uncle Jack stops in the doorway and raises an eyebrow, head tilted.

“Oh?” he asks. “And why not?”

Charlie puffs out his chest with pride.

“Because I’m not a girl anymore.” At Uncle Jack’s blank expression, he continues, “My mom said I can be a boy, so I’m gonna be a boy from now on. So take that!”

Charlie grins and crosses his arms over his chest, confident that he’s won. But to his surprise, Uncle Jack just smiles and nods.

“You’re right, Charlie,” he murmurs. “You are a boy. A beautiful, wonderful boy.”

Charlie’s arms drop almost as quickly as his smile does.

Being a boy, it turns out, does not fix every problem.

* * *

 

Not a lot changes around the house. Charlie’s mom starts calling him her little man sometimes, and the occasional new clothes he gets are even less pink and frilly and even more black and simple.

Besides that, Charlie thinks, being a boy isn’t much different than being a girl was. He still goes Dumpster diving, throws rocks at the neighborhood dogs, and steals whiffs of his mom’s wood glue sometimes.

 

 


	2. First Day of School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie has to correct a few people when he goes to school for the first time.

On Charlie’s first day of school, he is sitting at his desk, wriggling impatiently, when the teacher calls, “Charlie Kelly?”

“HERE!” Charlie shouts, raising one tiny hand high into the air. The rest of the class giggles, but the teacher looks up at him and frowns. She glances back and forth between him and her attendance sheet, before finally, she asks:

“Charlie, this paper says you’re a girl?”

Charlie frowns and shakes his head.

“Nope, I’m a boy! My mom says the hospital just made a mistake on my papers.”

He remembers his mom telling him to say that if anyone asks if he’s a girl. He isn’t sure why he can’t just _say_ that he used to be a girl, but he trusts his mom. Sure enough, a few kids snicker, but the teacher just gives a tired sigh and nods, too tired (and underpaid) to pursue the issue.

“Okay. Next we have—Ronald McDonald?”

Charlie joins the class in laughing this time as he turns in his chair to find the owner of the name. As it turns out, Ronald McDonald is sitting right behind him. He’s a lean boy, bigger than Charlie, with big brown eyes and a deep scowl. As the laughter dies down, he grits through his teeth, _“My name is Mac.”_

It’s directed at the teacher, but he’s staring at Charlie.

“Mac McDonald, then,” the teacher repeats, noting it in her attendance.

“Liam McPoyle?”

* * *

 

At recess, Charlie sees Mac sitting off to the side of the playground by himself. Charlie hasn’t found anybody to play with, either, so he wanders towards him, hands in his pockets. Once he gets over there, Mac looks up at him, and for a split second, fixes him with the same scowl from the classroom.

“You’re that kid that laughed in my face earlier,” he says, his scowl turning into something more akin to a pout. Charlie shrugs and sits down next to him.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie says, even though he kind of isn't. To his surprise, though, Mac shrugs too, his expression softening.

“It’s okay, I’m used to it,” he sighs.

Mac squints and regards Charlie more closely.

“Are you _really_ a boy?”

“Of course I’m a boy!” Charlie protests, his voice getting shrill. “Here, I’ll prove it!”

Before Mac can say anything else, Charlie has stood and pulled his shirt off in one quick movement; it's the quickest and easiest way he could think of to prove it. He stands shirtless before Mac, suddenly nervous for reasons he can’t explain. Mac gives him one quick glance up and down and then nods.

“Yeah, that proves it,” Mac says matter-of-factly. “Everyone knows girls have boobs.”

“Exactly,” Charlie says, already pulling his shirt back on. Once that’s done, he nudges Mac with his foot.

“Do you wanna go throw rocks at the rich kids?”

Mac looks up at him and, for the first time since Charlie’s met him, smiles. Some small part of Charlie’s stomach feels like it’s just had the air punched out of it.

* * *

 

“Charlie, buddy,” Mac laughs as the two of them are ushered into the principal’s office fifteen minutes later, “this is gonna be a beautiful friendship.”

Charlie agrees.


	3. binding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie has to deal with some budding problems when he gets to middle school.

For the next several years, Charlie squeaks through school the same way he squeaked through that first day: following Mac’s lead and telling the teachers the same lie about his papers. For some reason or another, nobody ever actually “fixes” his papers, nor do they investigate to see if they’re actually wrong in the first place. Charlie thinks it’s probably because he goes to such a shitty school; everyone has bigger problems to worry about.

Finally, though, the day comes when even Charlie has bigger problems to worry about.

It’s a few weeks into middle school, and Charlie is getting dressed for the day when the tightening of his shirt around his chest can no longer be ignored. When he catches a look at himself in the bathroom mirror, he sighs and mutters to himself.

“Shit.”

Charlie doesn’t go to school that day. Instead, he mopes around the living room, slumping on the couch and huffing glue. His mom comes downstairs around eleven and frowns when she seems him there.

“Charlie, don’t you have school today?”

Charlie shrugs and gives a sluggish shake of his head. Tongue heavy, he lies, “Day off. President’s birthday.”

Luckily, Bonnie would never accuse her son of lying. Instead, she just nods, smiling as though she knew that all along.

“Oh, of course! That’s right. How could I forget?”

She heads into the kitchen, chuckling to herself. Charlie watches her go, then sighs again and pulls the glue bottle back from where he’d hidden it, hastily stuffed under a pillow.

He needs to talk to Mac.

* * *

 

Mac comes by to visit after school that afternoon. As is his way, he’s worried that Charlie didn’t show up to class. Instead of explaining to him upfront, though, Charlie grabs him on the porch and drags him into the house, leading him by the hand to his room. Once they make it there, Charlie all but throws Mac onto his bed. Unfazed, Mac just frowns and crosses his arms.

“Alright, Charlie,” he says, “what’s going on?”

Charlie paces back and forth in front of Mac, waving his hands around as he tries to line the words up in his head. Finally, he sighs and turns to Mac.

“Listen, you know how my papers aren’t right?”

Mac nods, eyebrows drawn low as he listens. Charlie sighs again in frustration.

“Well, I…”

Mac stares at Charlie. Charlie stares at Mac.

He doesn’t get it.

Charlie groans and pulls his shirt off, just like he did all those years ago. This time, though, his chest is more incriminating. Mac stares at him a moment longer, putting the pieces together. He leaps up when he finally gets it, eyes huge, and he jabs an accusing finger in Charlie’s direction.

“Charlie, you’ve been a girl this whole time?!”

“No!” Charlie snaps, voice high with emotion. “Goddammit, Mac, I’m not a girl!”

Mac sputters in protest.

“B-but—your—“

Mac briefly nods towards Charlie’s chest, but Charlie notices he’s keeping his eyes focused on Charlie’s face. Some small part of Charlie finds pleasant surprise in that; he’d kind of expected Mac to fixate on the issue of his chest.

“Yeah, I know,” Charlie says, some of the fire leaving his voice. “Doesn’t matter, though. My papers still aren’t right.”

Charlie stares at Mac. Mac stares at Charlie.

He gets it. Mac finally nods, slowly.

“I… Yeah, man, they aren’t right,” Mac says. “No way you’re a girl! You’re way too much fun to hang out with to be a girl.”

Mac nods again, mostly to himself.  Caught off guard, Charlie smiles, and part of him forgets that this was not the problem he needed to solve.

“...Thanks, Mac.”

Charlie remembers the problem at hand quickly enough, though, and he goes right back to pacing and waving his hands.

“But that’s not the problem, right? It’s this— “Charlie indicates his own chest, still bare, and belatedly realizes he should probably put his shirt back on “—and I have no idea how to fix it!”

Charlie breaks off into more frustrated grumbling as he tugs his shirt back on. Mac, who has seated himself back on Charlie’s bed, frowns and stares off into space, his nose wrinkling in thought.

“You’re right, that is a problem.”

“Well, yeah!”

Charlie frowns and crosses his arms over his chest self-consciously, even blushing a bit. “We gotta fix it, dude,” he mumbles.

“… before it gets worse.”

* * *

Some hours (and more than a couple Dumpster dives) later, Charlie stands in his bedroom, staring at the cracked, grimy mirror he and Mac have propped up in the corner.

“Well, what do you think?” Mac asks, tugging at the bandages around Charlie’s chest one more time for good measure before stepping away. Charlie tilts his head as he regards his reflection. It looks… Better. He turns from side to side and observes that the bandages have pressed his chest nearly flat. The only issue he’s noticing is a slight tightness to the bandages, but he figures that’s to be expected.

His inspection done, Charlie turns to Mac.

“Gimme my shirt, dude.”

Mac nods and reaches for the shirt Charlie had thrown onto the floor earlier. Once he’s handed it over, Charlie immediately jerks it on, ignoring the way the bandages almost seem to constrict tighter around him as he does. He immediately goes back to checking himself out in the mirror as soon as he’s got the shirt on, and can’t help but grin at what he sees.

His chest is flat again.

“Dude, this is perfect!” he exclaims, turning to beam at Mac. Mac smiles as he nods in agreement.

“Yeah, man, you look just like a real guy!” he exclaims.

There’s a palpable tension in the air all of a sudden. Charlie’s face drops as he stares at Mac. To his credit, Mac seems to realize that he’s fucked up, because he’s wincing and biting his lip.

“Shit, Charlie… I didn’t mean…”

Charlie sighs heavily. He wishes he could be angry, really he does, but it’s Mac. That this is the worst thing he’s said so far is already impressive.

“It’s okay, man,” Charlie says, waving a hand dismissively. Mac nods, though he still looks concerned.

“Just don’t let it happen again, okay? I _am_ a real guy.”

Mac nods again.

“Yeah, bro. Totally.”

Charlie turns back to the mirror and resumes straightening his shirt. He tries to pretend that the tightness in his chest is only because of the bandages.

 


	4. Beard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At age 17, Charlie is starting to feel a little left-out because he can't grow a beard. For better or worse, Dennis is determined to find out why.

The rest of middle school comes and goes without much event. Charlie eventually figures out that binding with Ace bandages is a terrible idea, not least of which because it’s starting to actually warp his ribcage. Instead, he fashions a makeshift binder from a ripped-up old undershirt and some duct tape. It’s not perfect, but it works well enough.

Even in the changing political climate of the 1980s, his teachers still don’t care enough to check on his papers.

He follows Mac. He repeats the lie. He goes to high school.

Charlie is, unsurprisingly, a little guy. He’s long since made his peace with that. Maybe it made him wistful and sad (and yes, a little bit angry) when Mac started creeping up on him, but Charlie doesn’t mind it anymore. He’s decided, in his irrefutable Charlie Logic, that he looks better next to Mac the way he is now.

And they do contrast each other. Charlie is small and covered in freckles from head to toe, fluffy hair still standing defiantly tall, and he’s never seen without his oversized military coat pooling over his back and around his wrists, doing its best to mask how truly tiny he is. Mac isn’t any of that. Mac’s not tall, but he’s much closer to “average” than Charlie is. Where Charlie’s hair is perpetually unkempt, Mac’s is always neatly slicked back, and where Charlie hides in big clothes, Mac is never seen wearing anything that dares to have sleeves.

Still, Charlie supposes, for all their differences on the outside, they have almost everything in common on the inside. And Mac is still the only person outside of Charlie’s family who knows the truth about him.

Until, one day, he isn’t.

The three of them are hanging out at the Reynolds mansion, in Dennis’ room. (Charlie has never quite felt comfortable at the Reynolds mansion, but Mac likes hanging out there with Dennis, and Charlie likes hanging out with Mac, so he tags along.) Dennis and Mac are sprawled out on the bed playing video games, while Charlie sits curled up in the chair next to it, watching the television as his friends attempt to beat the shit out of each other. They talk about everything and nothing as they do.

The topic, eventually, swings around to shaving, and Dennis, ever the complainer, starts going on about how much time it takes to properly shave and avoid nicking his beautiful face. Mac nods and offers a few comments in agreement, though Charlie isn’t quite sure which part of the statement Mac is agreeing with. Charlie himself stays quiet, having not had much experience in shaving his face, but suddenly, Dennis is turning to look at him.

“You’re a lucky man, Charlie,” he says. “I’d give anything to be able to keep my face as soft and hairless as yours.”

Charlie laughs awkwardly and smiles, though he feels more embarrassed than anything else. If Dennis knew just _why_ his face stays so soft…

“Yeah, well, y’know,” Charlie says, “what can I say? It’s a gift, it really is.”

Dennis hums his agreement, turning back to face the television. Charlie shifts his gaze to Mac, raising his eyebrows in a silent plea for help, but of course, Mac is too focused on beating Dennis at Street Fighter to notice.

“It really is,” Dennis repeats. “You know, Charlie, I think I’ve even seen _girls_ with more facial hair than you.”

Charlie freezes, and for one terrible moment he thinks Dennis knows. Mac blabbed, or Dennis figured it out himself, it doesn’t matter, he _knows_ , and now he’s going to hold it over Charlie’s head forever, or worse yet, tell the school. But there’s no way he _doesn’t_ know—that icy, venomous edge in his voice tells Charlie everything that Dennis isn’t saying.

It’s Mac who rescues Charlie, and he doesn’t even mean to. He just blurts out, “Yeah, like Dee!”

It’s a kneejerk reaction, a joke that doesn’t mean anything and comes as easy as breathing. But Dennis throws his head back and laughs, and Charlie breathes a sigh of relief. One more entry on the list of things he needs to properly thank Mac for someday. Charlie laughs along with Dennis and Mac, more in relief than anything else.

There is a companionable silence between the three of them once they recover, and Charlie thinks Dennis has forgotten his line of questioning.

But, of course, Dennis never forgets.

* * *

 

As Charlie and Mac are on their way out of the mansion for the day, Dennis calls out, “Hey, Charlie, wait up!”

Charlie swallows before turning to face him with a small smile. Mac has already made it out of the front door. He’s all alone with Dennis.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Charlie asks.

Dennis leans against the door frame, looking at Charlie down his nose, as if he were some sort of god from on high. He tends to do that. Charlie hates that about Dennis.

“Don’t think I forgot about our little exchange earlier,” Dennis says with a sly chuckle. He isn’t smiling, though. “I wanna know your secret, Charlie.”

“M-my secret?” Charlie asks, taking a tiny step back. Dennis notices (of course he does) and takes a step forward.

“You don’t have enough money for lasers or waxing, and I’ve never seen you with a single cut, even though you’re clearly too white trash to take your time shaving.”

Charlie’s eyebrows draw together in confusion. This isn’t exactly going the way he expected it to go. Dennis steps even closer, using the extra height this gives him to loom over Charlie.

“Charlie,” Dennis hisses. “Where’s your facial hair?”

Charlie cracks under the pressure. His shoulders all but deflate as he mumbles:

“I… I can’t grow any."

He swallows.

"I have a condition.”

Charlie has always been good at hiding truth in lies.

That the great Dennis Reynolds himself buys this one is, Charlie thinks, a credit to his skill.

Instantly, Dennis' menacing demeanor is gone, and the charismatic charmer is back. He chuckles again and clicks his tongue in pity, before stepping out of Charlie’s personal space and throwing an arm around his shoulder.

“Oh, is that all?” he asks, voice light and airy. “Charlie, that’s nothing! All kinds of guys have that problem.”

“They do?”

Charlie frowns, nose crinkling. This is going in a completely different direction than he had expected.

“Suuuure they do,” Dennis assures him, patting him on the shoulder. “It’s nothing a little makeup can’t fix, though.” Dennis gasps then, as though he’s suddenly had an idea. Charlie’s pretty sure this “sudden” idea is one he’s been sitting on for hours, though.

“I know! Next time you come over, I’ll teach you how to fake your own beard, okay?”

Charlie wants to ask Dennis _why_ he knows how to do that, especially since he hates his own facial hair so much, but he knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, Charlie will take any excuse that throws Dennis off his scent. He gives a small laugh and nods, gently removing Dennis’ arm from its resting place on his back.

“Uh, sure, man! That sounds awesome.” Charlie nervously smiles at Dennis and begins stepping back towards the door. “Thanks, Dennis.”

“Of course,” Dennis says. He gives what Charlie has come to refer to as his shark grin—the one that is probably meant to be pleasant, but only ever looks flat and menacing, at least to Charlie. Charlie even suppresses the urge to shiver as he turns to grab the doorknob. Before he can get the door open, though, Dennis speaks again.

“Oh, and Charlie?”

Charlie swallows and turns back to face Dennis.

“Yes?”

Dennis wags a finger at him admonishingly, still grinning.

“This is our little secret, okay?”

Charlie inwardly breathes a sigh of relief and nods.

“Yeah, of course, Dennis.” In a hurry to get out of there, Charlie opens the door and steps out before Dennis can speak again.

“I’ll see you later.”

When he gets outside, Charlie is relieved to see Mac waiting for him there. He frowns and raises an eyebrow as Charlie falls into step beside him and the two begin their walk home.

“What took you so long, bro?”

“Dennis is gonna teach me how to give myself a beard with makeup or something, I guess.”

Charlie just shrugs, already over it, but Mac’s jaw drops in surprise. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, grabbing Charlie’s arm.

“You told him?!”

Mac’s tone is equal parts fear, surprise, disbelief, and even a bit of joy, with the expression to match. Charlie feels vaguely guilty when he has to shake his head.

“No, he just kind of started asking. I lied and said I just have male-pattern beard baldness or something."

Mac's expression drops.

"Huh."

The two of them walk in silence for a moment, before Mac asks, "And he actually bought that?"

Charlie huffs a small laugh and shrugs.

"Whatever works, dude, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

Mac doesn't sound convinced, though. A few steps later, he speaks again.

"You really should tell him, Charlie."

Charlie frowns and looks down, kicking a conveniently-placed pebble.

"He doesn't need to know."

Mac sighs.

"Are you afraid of him freaking out? Dude, you can trust him! He's not gonna stop being your friend all of a sudden just because of that."

Charlie huffs another laugh, far more bitter this time. He's not sure where to start with any of what Mac just said. For starters, Dennis has always been Mac's friend first and Charlie's second, and secondly, Charlie has never trusted Dennis even a little bit. He doesn't say any of that, though. Instead, he just sighs and says what will shut Mac up.

"Maybe I'll tell him soon, okay?"

Mac nods, apparently satisfied with the answer. They finish the walk home in silence.


	5. makeup days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie goes back to the Reynolds mansion to take Dennis up on his offer from yesterday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized shortly after posting the last chapter how downright criminal it was of me to set up Dennis doing makeup and then not deliver on that, so I decided to expand it into a full chapter's worth instead of just updating the last one. Now with more 50% more CharDen friendship and 100% more Sweet Dee!

The next day finds Charlie back in the Reynolds mansion, fidgeting nonstop on Dennis’ bed as Dennis presses some kind of makeup brush to his jaw with surprising gentleness. Mac is sitting in the chair Charlie was in yesterday, watching the process with interest. Charlie wants to ask Mac how it looks so far, or ask Dennis how much longer it’ll take, or ask what Dennis is even _doing_ , but he doesn’t want to risk moving his face and messing up… Whatever is happening. So, for once, Charlie is quiet. Dennis is too absorbed in his work to notice, or maybe he’s just too busy to comment, but Mac has no such problem.

“Dude, you’ve never been this quiet in your life,” he says with a grin. “Are you sure you’re the real Charlie?”

Charlie puffs his cheeks and growls in reply, but he doesn’t speak. Instead, he flips Mac off. Mac just laughs as he leans back in the chair. Dennis tuts, though he doesn’t stop poking Charlie with the brush.

“Don’t tease him, Mac. It’s a miracle he’s actually sitting still and letting me do this to him— _for_ him, I mean.”

Charlie’s eyebrows creep together in concern at the slip, and he fixes Dennis with a questioning gaze. Dennis just smiles innocently at him, taking a brief moment to pat his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Charlie, it looks great. I just need to touch up your chin with a darker color to add some depth and then seal it, okay? Just give me five more minutes.”

Now it’s Mac’s turn to look concerned. He leans forward in the chair again, steepling his fingers together as he regards Dennis.

“Bro, why do you even know so much about all this makeup shit? That’s gay.”

Dennis sighs in exasperation. Without looking away from his work, he replies, “We’ve been over this, Mac. There is nothing gay about using a little foundation and eyeliner sometimes to accentuate your features, okay? If anything, it actually makes me _more_ masculine, since it accentuates the hard angles and manly beauty of my face.”

Charlie sighs through his nose and rolls his eyes. Mac, however, seems satisfied. He makes that “ohhhh!” noise that he tends to make and returns to his resting position in the chair, nodding to himself.

Dennis is just about to take the brush back to Charlie’s chin when the door to his room opens and Dee pokes her head inside.

“What’s up, guys?”

Mac groans and throws his head back in exaggerated misery, yelling a “Goddammit, Dee!” for good measure, while Dennis sits back and turns to regard his sister with a venomous glare.

“Would you leave us alone, Dee? We’re in the middle of something very important here and I can’t have your squawking distracting me.”

Of course, Dee walks into the room anyway, flipping Mac off as she replies to Dennis.

“Fuck you, all I said was ‘what’s up!’ Besides, I don’t see what’s so important about—“

Dee stops and looks around the room, finally taking in what’s actually occurring. Her gaze sweeps from Dennis, to the array of makeup palettes laid out around him on his bed, and finally to Charlie. He raises his hand in a small, uncertain half-wave at her, unsure of how else to react. She stares at him for a long moment before returning her attention to Dennis.

“What the hell are you doing to Charlie?”

Dennis starts to answer, but before he can get the words out, Mac does it for him.

“We’re giving Charlie a fake beard!”

A new shot of anxiety courses through Charlie, and he stares at Dee, waiting for her reaction. Will she figure it out? Despite the way they all treat her, Dee really is as clever as Dennis, only she doesn’t have to deal with her ego clouding her judgments like he does. It is, Charlie thinks, actually possible that Dee will figure out what’s really going on here. She frowns, looking confused, and Charlie is ready for her to say something terrible—

But all she asks is “Why?”

Dennis heaves a long-suffering sigh and fixes her with a withering look.

“Because, _Deandra_ , he can’t grow one himself, _obviously_! Is it not my duty as Charlie’s best friend to help him with that?”

Mac yells, “I thought _I_ was your best friend!” at the same time that Charlie derisively snorts “You’re not my best friend!” Thus begins a cacophony of noise as the guys argue over who is and isn’t each other’s best friend, and Dee is stuck standing in the doorway, watching with scorn as it all goes down. When the argument is still going 2 minutes later, she swears and purposely leans forward, her back brace screaming in metallic protest. That gets everyone’s attention, and they all quiet down to look at her.

“You guys are ridiculous.”

She sits down to lean against the door then, even though she was never formally invited to stay. After a moment’s pause, everyone continues doing what they had been doing before Dee came in.

Charlie becomes cognizant of a different feeling on his jaw all of a sudden, and realizes that Dennis is now dusting it with a large brush that feels… Dry? Finally, Charlie cracks and opens his mouth.

“Dude, what _is_ that?”

“It’s just sealant powder,” Dennis answers without looking up. “It dries everything up so it sticks. This way your stubble won’t melt off in the heat or come off as soon as you eat something. Also, don’t speak, okay? You were doing so well.”

Charlie huffs in frustration, but closes his mouth again. He hopes he never has to sit this still or stay this quiet again for the rest of his life.

“Hey, wait a second,” Dee says. “Dennis, are you using my sealant?”

Dennis scoffs.

“I sure as hell wasn’t going to use my own.”

“Goddammit, Dennis!” Dee protests, but doesn’t actually raise her voice or sit up, betraying how truly used to this sort of thing she is.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Dennis sits back and puts down the brush. He regards Charlie with a cold, analytical stare and a self-satisfied smile.

“Well? How’s it look?” Charlie asks, with increasing urgency.

“Dennis Reynolds, you beautiful bastard,” Dennis mutters to himself, “you’ve done it again.”

Charlie yells in frustration before turning to Mac.

“Mac! How is it?”

Mac looks at him for a long minute before he slowly smiles and nods, holding up a thumbs-up. Charlie’s heart starts to beat a bit faster as he turns to Dee.

“Dee, what do you think?” Charlie asks. He doesn’t really care what Dee thinks--none of them do-- but she’s there, so he may as well get her irrelevant opinion.

“Hey, that actually looks pretty good, Charlie!” she says. He smiles wider and jumps off the bed, heading for the vanity mirror on the other side of Dennis’ room. The rest of the gang gets up to follow him in a rare moment of unconscious agreement. Once there, they all crowd around as Charlie examines his first stubble.

It’s a bit on the light side, Charlie thinks, but maybe that’s just because he was expecting too much from some makeup and weird drying powder. Still, he has to admit, Dennis knew what he was doing; it suits his face. It starts at his sideburns (he has _sideburns_ now? Dennis really went all-out) and trails down along his jaw to meet at his chin, where it creeps up to form another tiny patch of hair just below his lower lip. The whole thing is brought together with a sorta-kinda mustache—Charlie realizes that he doesn’t know the right words for any of this, since it’s never applied to him before now.

He has a beard.

“Well?” Mac prompts, after Charlie is quiet for another un-Charlie-like length of time. “It looks great, right?”

Charlie nods and smiles. For once in his life, he’s almost too emotional to speak.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It looks great.”

For a moment that seems to hang in the air forever, the gang just stares at their reflection, and there’s something about it that just feels _right_ in a way it rarely has before.

Of course, like every other good time they have, it doesn’t last.

“I hope you were paying attention, Charlie,” Dennis says, “because I’m not going to do that for you every day. Also, you can’t use my makeup, so you’ll need to buy your own.”

“What?!” Charlie yells, but it’s drowned out by Dee’s outraged, “What do you mean _, your_ makeup?! That was _my_ shit!”

The four of them fall back into their earlier riot of argument as easily as falling asleep.


	6. first dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie's senior year of high school finds him experiencing a variety of first dances with Stacy Corvelli at homecoming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for dub-con between Charlie and Stacy in this chapter, by way of Charlie being completely traumatized and afraid of sex for a variety of reasons.
> 
> This chapter doesn't directly deal with Charlie's being trans, at least not in the way the other chapters have so far, but I felt like it would be wrong to just skim over Charlie and Stacy, since it's canonically such an establishing moment in his characterization. One can only imagine it'd be doubly so if he were trans.

When Charlie walks into school with his new stubbled look (albeit a bit sloppier; he’s no Dennis when it comes to makeup) the next week, he feels like a new man. Logically, he knows he’s still just a microscopic, freckled, squeaky blip on the school’s radar, but he still can’t help but feel like people look at him with a modicum more interest now, if not quite respect.

Maybe, Charlie hopes, the really pretty girl who sits next to Dee in trig will finally answer the notes he’s been slipping in her locker, or at least give him a sideways glance.

In the meantime, though, he’s content to keep coasting through school with the help of Mac, Dennis, and fifth periods spent drinking and smoking under the bleachers by the football field.

As the weeks wear on, football season approaches, and the annual tittering about homecoming starts up in the hallways again. Charlie finds himself sighing into his milk carton at the gang’s lunch table one day as they discuss their dates, plans, and the lack thereof.

“I’m telling you, guys, we can’t all go without dates again!” Dennis says, gesticulating wildly with the hapless French fry trapped in his grip. “It’s social suicide and we cannot, _must not_ , allow it to happen two years in a row!”

“Says you,” Mac snickers. “You were the only one who didn’t have a date last year. I went with that sad girl from my English class, remember?”

Dennis thinks a moment, then remembers. He wrinkles his nose in distaste.

“Dude, _gross_. She weighs more than every single one of us put together, and that’s _including_ Dee’s back brace!”

From her sitting place next to Charlie, Dee grumbles and noncommittally flings one of her grapes at Dennis, but otherwise remains silent. The grape goes wide, and Dennis just keeps on going despite Mac’s attempts at protesting.

“No, whatever, Mac, I don’t care! No date is still better than dating a sad sack like that.”

He nods towards Charlie and Dee.

“Isn’t that right, losers?”

Charlie scoffs, eyebrows drawing together.

“Uhh, we had dates too, dude!”

Dennis scoffs right back.

“What? No you didn’t. Preposterous. _Absurd_. Nobody would go to homecoming with the Aluminum Monster or the Incredible Beardless Boy.”

He punctuates his statement with a quick, breathless laugh and a shake of his head. Indignation burns hot in Charlie’s cheeks, and he opens his mouth to protest, but Dee beats him to the punch.

“Seriously, Dennis? You’re such an asshole.”

She’s probably just defending herself, but Charlie can’t help but feel like she’s springing to his aid, too. He’s grateful for that.

“If you must know,” Dee continues, “Charlie and I went with each other! And we had a really nice time.”

Charlie thinks that “a really nice time” is probably being a bit generous, but it’s the principle of the thing, so he stays quiet. Dennis scoffs again, waving a dismissive hand.

“Oh, I’m _sure_ you did. Charlie, remind me again, didn’t you take off 5 minutes into the dance to chase after that girl from Dee’s trig class?”

Charlie tries to reply again, but Dee cuts him off once more.

“At least we had dates, however briefly. Unlike _you_ , Dennis.”

At Dee’s taunt, Dennis gives an inhuman growl and that vein in his neck starts to pop out. Dee and Charlie laugh at that, while Mac begins trying to calm Dennis with a hand on his shoulder.

“Guys, regardless of who did and didn’t have dates last year,” Mac starts, in his best placating tone, “I think what matters is that we find dates _this_ year.”

That’s true enough. Charlie nods and grunts his agreement along with the rest of the gang.

“Yeah!” Mac breaks into his biggest, brightest smile as the table gets more excited.

“We gotta make this homecoming WAY more better than last year’s!”

“Hell yeah, dude!” Charlie exclaims, raising his milk carton in a toast. Mac and Dee follow suit, leaving a still-disgruntled Dennis sullenly gnawing on his pizza.

* * *

 

A week later, homecoming is fast approaching and the gang has been hard at work trying to find dates, with varying degrees of success. Dennis has been prowling around in hopes of finding a freshman naïve or desperate enough to fall for his charming gentleman senior act, while Dee appears to be operating under the assumption that Charlie will take pity on her and go as her date again this year. Mac, ever the opportunist, seems to have decided on asking out the really quiet girl in the back of his math class who cries more often than she actually does the homework.

As for Charlie, he’s been trying to talk to the Girl From Trig, but that’s going just as badly as usual.

“All I’m saying is I’m worth a shot!” Charlie protests to her one day. By strategically leaving his science class early, he was able to run to the other side of the building and corner her next to her locker before she leaves school early for her new job at the coffee shop on the South Side. Now he’s pouring his heart out to her as she looks on in a silent mix of pity and disgust.

Charlie takes a breath to continue making his case, but she interrupts him.

“Charlie, come on,” she sighs. “We do this every year! You beg me to go to homecoming with you, I say no, you start systematically leaving bags of flaming dog shit in the locker of every guy I talk to until I report you to the principal. Do we really need to do this same old song and dance again?”

Charlie’s eyes had kind of glazed over—he just likes to listen to her talk, no matter what it’s about—but he snaps back into it when he hears the word “dance.”

“Did you say ‘dance?!’” he shouts, startling some of the students passing by. “Does that mean you’ll go with me?!”

“Are you _serious_ , Charlie?!”

In a fit of rage, she balls up one of the papers she’s been holding this whole time and throws it at Charlie. Just like everything else she ever says or does to him, it hits him right in the chest.

“…Is that a yes?” he asks hopefully, biting his lip. She groans and slams her locker door. Charlie jumps at the noise.

“Get lost, Charlie,” she sneers, and then she’s walking away. Charlie sighs as he watches her go.

Looks like he’s taking Dee again after all.

* * *

 

That afternoon finds Charlie moping in the corner of the library, more than a little high on glue he stole from the wood shop. He’s hunched over himself and the table, enjoying the feeling of his shitty makeshift binder biting into his skin in protest at his awful posture, when he dimly realizes he isn’t alone. Slowly, Charlie lifts his head to find a girl sitting across from him.

He squints at her, trying to place a name to her face, but between his inhalant-fueled inebriation and his general disregard for girls who aren’t Dee or the Girl From Trig, he doesn’t have much luck. She’s just… sort of nondescript? She has dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, and bright blue eyes hiding behind a pair of thin glasses. She has a round, open face that makes her seem like she’d maybe be friendly, or at least less mean than all the other girls in school. Charlie thinks it’s kind of weird that she decided to sit near him, especially since there are so many other empty chairs and tables in the library.

A couple minutes into Charlie’s confused staring at her, the girl looks up, smiling in gentle surprise as if she’s just now noticed him. Maybe she has, Charlie thinks. He hears that reading can make you forget about the outside world like that.

“Oh! Hi there,” she murmurs, smiling at Charlie. He just squints back at her, nodding vaguely in response.

“H…i,” he responds.

There’s an uncomfortably long second of the two of them staring at each other then-- Charlie staring at her like she’s a puzzle he can’t solve (and for all he cares, she _is_ ), her smiling back at him.

“Caaaaan I help you?” Charlie finally asks, his voice uncertain. Really, he just wants to break the silence. She laughs softly in response, and Charlie wonders if he’s about to be asked to eat spiders again.

“You’re Charlie Kelly, right?”

“Uh… Yeah?”

Charlie sits a little straighter, his shoulders drawing up as he does. He doesn’t have to hunch up like this to hide his chest anymore, not since the binder, but old habits die hard, especially when random girls know his name.

“Who’s askin’?” he asks, his voice growing a bit more guarded. He crosses his arms and frowns at the girl across the table. Instead of looking intimidated, though, she just smiles and gently puts her book down.

“My name’s Stacy.”

Somewhere far off in Charlie’s head, a bell rings. There’s a Stacy in his and Mac’s English class, he thinks. What’s her last name? Carter? Caravan? Something with a C, Charlie thinks.

“Hi, Stacy,” he answers, unsure of how else to proceed.

The two of them meet another stalemate of staring and awkward silence. Charlie clears his throat. After a second, Stacy scoots her chair closer, and Charlie feels her foot nudge his under the table.

“You’re in my English class,” she laughs. Charlie laughs too, if only to try and end this interaction.

“Oh! Yeah, I thought that was you,” he says with a placating grin. He hopes that this will end things, but to his confusion, Stacy seems encouraged to continue; she leans in closer, her cheeks starting to flush.

“You remember me?” she asks, voice coy. “Charlie, that’s so sweet!”

“It is?”

Charlie realizes, slowly and all at once, that he’s too fucking high to deal with this right now. Stacy giggles again.

“Yes, it is,” she states, voice firm. “You’re cute, Charlie.”

“Oh. Uh… Thanks, Stacy.”

Charlie really wishes Mac or Dennis or even Dee would come to his rescue right about now. Unfortunately, he’s in the library, and nobody would ever think of looking for him there. That’s why he fucking picked the library as his moping place; little did he know that little Stacy Caramel from English would decide to track him down here.

“Hey, Charlie,” Stacy murmurs. Her voice is low all of a sudden, like she’s just been struck with a very good and very secret idea. “Do you have a date to the homecoming dance?”

 _Ohhhhh, shit,_ Charlie thinks. So _that’s_ what this is about.

Out of reflex, he begins, “Actually, I—“

But then he stops.

Charlie thinks about the paper wad that the Girl From Trig threw at him, about how he can still feel it hitting him right over the heart. He thinks about spending another year standing at the punch table awkwardly next to Dee between rounds of getting shot down at the dance. He thinks about Dennis laughing at him about it for the rest of the year.

Charlie decides, _What the hell._

“Actually, I don’t!” Charlie says, smirking and running a hand through his messy hair. Stacy’s smile widens.

“Sooo, then… Would you wanna go with me?”

Charlie leans in and nods with a grin. He has no clue if he’s doing this right, but this seems to be how Dennis and Mac do their business, so it can’t be that wrong.

“I’d love to, Stacy.”

* * *

 

It’s midnight at the homecoming dance, and Charlie is kind of over it.

Sure, he has a date, and sure, Stacy Corvelli looks great in her dress, and sure, he even has a shitty tuxedo that Mac helped him rent. But Mac and Dennis are both busy with their dates, and Dee is busy being a sad sack in her back brace at the punch table, and the Girl From Trig is _right there_ , dancing with her date across the floor right where Charlie can see her. He sighs to himself as he lets Stacy pull him closer on the dance floor, leading the two of them in a shitty, awkward attempt at a slow dance.

Charlie lets himself be pulled along for a few minutes more before he sighs and turns to Stacy.

“Look,” he says, “this has been a lot of fun and all, but aren’t you ready to get out of here?”

Charlie’s expecting her to be disappointed, but Stacy surprises him with a bubbly laugh.

“Charlie!” she exclaims. “I thought you’d never ask. Yeah, I’m ready to get out of here.”

It’s more than a little confusing for Charlie when Stacy takes him by the hand and leads him out of the gym, her steps suddenly full of drunken purpose. He continues to let her lead him, though, more out of confusion and curiosity than anything else.

Their journey eventually takes them under the bleachers. The night is quiet and foggy, and Charlie watches his feet as they disturb the dew collecting on the grass. Once they’ve reached Stacy’s destination, she turns and, before Charlie can react, pulls him in for a kiss.

Charlie freezes. This… Is not what he was expecting. This isn’t his first kiss, but he’s never understood the appeal of it, and he still doesn’t understand it now.

Still, he vaguely realizes, this is what’s supposed to happen when you have a date, so he goes along with it, gingerly kissing Stacy back and placing a hesitant hand on her shoulder. Apparently, that was the right move, because she pulls him closer, shifting his hand to grip her waist as she bites at his lip. Charlie’s eyes snap open and he opens his mouth to yelp, but Stacy takes that as an invitation to start making out in earnest, and Charlie suddenly finds his mouth too full of tongue to protest.

Charlie can feel himself slowly zoning out as Stacy keeps going, slowly falling back and pulling Charlie down on top of her. He can’t explain why, but the concept of doing—this—has always terrified him, as long as he can remember. Every shred of him feels _wrong_ , and _bad_ , and it’s all he can do just to hold himself still instead of jumping up and running as far away as he can. If Stacy notices how freaked out he is, though, she doesn’t act like it. So Charlie just submits, letting the static fill his head as he stares dead-eyed down at Stacy, letting her have her fun.

Only when he realizes that she’s removed his tie and jacket and is working at the buttons of his shirt does Charlie snap back into reality.

“NO!” He shouts, jerking away from her and grabbing her offending wrist with a rough hand. She looks up at him, flushed and drunk and not understanding, and pouts.

“Aww, Charlie, why not? We were having so much fun.”

Charlie stares down at her in horror, his breath starting to run shallower in his chest.

“I… I…”

Charlie gags, swallows, blinks. Tries again.

“I just… Let’s do it with our clothes on, okay?”

He hates how shaken and weak and afraid he sounds, but Stacy doesn’t notice, for better or worse. She stares at him a moment longer, then nods with a laugh.

“Oh my god, Charlie, you’re a genius. That’s so kinky.”

She pulls him in again then, holding him closer as she squirms to get comfy underneath. Watching himself through a haze, Charlie gets the vaguest feeling of what’s happening and just barely has the presence of mind to drive his knee between her thighs.

From there, it’s easy enough to lie on top of her and let her kiss him and grind against his knee, and when she shudders and whines into his chest a few minutes later, he doesn’t even realize it, he’s so far gone.

Finally, as if he’s coming out of a coma, Charlie realizes Stacy isn’t holding onto him anymore. She’s just lying underneath him, panting, showing no signs of moving.

Charlie is up and gone before Stacy can catch her breath.

* * *

 

Mac, Dee, and Dennis are on their way out of the gym when Charlie skids onto the scene out of nowhere, looking a damn mess. Mac is instantly at his side, amidst a chorus of “What the hell?!” from the Reynolds twins.

“Charlie, buddy, what happened?” Mac asks, rubbing Charlie’s shoulders and trying to establish eye contact. “You disappeared, man. We were getting worried about you.”

Charlie comes back to himself just long enough to stare at Mac for a moment.

“Stacy, she—I—sex—“

He’s never been more thankful for those big brown eyes and their warmth in all his life, Charlie thinks. If he remembers this, it’s going to be one more thing he needs to thank Mac for.

Then Charlie shudders and suddenly hunches over, puking all over his rented shoes.

He doesn’t remember what happens after that.

The next thing he _does_ remember is waking up the next morning in the MacDonald house, tucked into Mac’s bed, with Mac hovering beside him with a glass of water and a worried expression.

“Charlie, are you okay?” he asks, voice soft and urgent. “What happened last night?”

Charlie seizes the water and gulps it down in one go. He thrusts the glass back into Mac’s grip with one clammy hand once it’s empty.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Charlie growls, staring wide-eyed at Mac in anger and fear.

“Okay,” Mac says, as he moves to sit on the side of the bed.

They don’t.


	7. smoked out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Certain truths come to light as Charlie and the gang smoke under the bleachers one day.

Charlie spends a lot of time getting high after that night. Nobody really blames him for it—not anymore, at least. Mac was worried about him at first, and even refused to give him any weed one night after the first week, but he changed his tune quickly enough after seeing Charlie spend that night shaking uncontrollably and sobbing into his pillow. After that, not only does Mac start giving Charlie weed again, he even stops charging Charlie for it. Mac’s sweet like that, Charlie thinks.

Things are better when he’s high. The unshakeable shake that refuses to let go of his bones subsides to a dull buzz and, more importantly, the vague, dark shapes stalking at the edge of his mind seem further away, less dangerous. Charlie thinks he can still feel them watching him with their cat eyes (and what’s that about? Charlie loves cats, so why are the cat eyes so scary?), but their fangs have fallen out and they’ve been declawed.

Charlie floats on through the semester like this. He’s dimly aware that the only reason he isn’t failing is because Mac and even Dennis are doing his homework for him, and he’s dimly aware that he should thank them for it, but he can never seem to remember to do it. Every time he opens his mouth, the thought floats away with the smoke and all that comes out is a cough and a “sorry.”

He’s dimly aware that he feels guilty, but not enough to stop.

The gang spends a lot of time smoking under the bleachers now. Charlie isn’t sure if it’s because of him or if it’s the stress of all the cumulative tests they’ve been getting lately. Probably it’s a combination of the two. But whatever it is, it keeps them someplace where Charlie can stay high and avoid dealing with everything, so he doesn’t mind. Plus, the setting and the weed make for a lot of interesting conversation.

“Do you ever, like—“

Dennis coughs, cutting himself off as he hands the blunt over to Mac. As Mac takes a hit, Dennis tries again.

“Do you guys ever feel like you’re not real?”

Dee throws her head back slowly and laughs. She’s sitting on the ground, arms resting on her knees, resting her head against one of the pillars holding the bleachers up. Charlie’s kind of noticed that she doesn’t wear her back brace as often anymore.

“Shut up, Dennis. You’re not high enough to talk like that.”

Despite her words, there’s no heat in Dee’s voice, betraying how truly high she is. Mac doesn’t answer Dennis’ question, either; he’s too busy ashing and tightening the roll of the blunt, making sure none of his hard-earned product falls out. Dennis gives an uncharacteristic sigh.

“No, I mean… Like you’re just a shell. Like everyone else can see you except for yourself… Like you’re a reverse ghost, kind of.”

Charlie blinks slowly and turns to stare at Dennis.

“Dude,” Charlie says. “I feel like that every day of my fucking life.”

Dennis stares back at him, eyes slowly going wide.

“You do?” he asks. He’s so earnest, it’s like he’s not even Dennis anymore. Charlie swallows and coughs before nodding.

“Yeah, man. It’s like… You gotta try so hard to be what everyone sees on the outside, when inside you don’t feel like any of it. I have to try to be this weird, cool little guy that everyone expects me to be—“

Dee starts to mumble something that sounds suspiciously like “you’re not cool,” but Dennis is quick to jab her in the side with an elbow, silencing her. Oblivious, Charlie continues.

“—but inside, it’s like _I_ don’t even know who I am, y’know? I’m just trying to be what everyone else wants me to be, but I don’t know what that is.”

At the conclusion of his speech, Charlie swallows again and, numbly, reaches for the blunt. As he takes it from Mac’s hand, he notices that Mac is staring at him like he’s grown a second head. Charlie shrugs and takes a hit, leaning his head back and closing his eyes before blowing the smoke out a moment later.

When he opens his eyes to hand the blunt to Dennis, he notices Dennis’ hands shaking. He follows the motion of the blunt as it travels to Dennis’ mouth and finds that Dennis looks completely undone, his eyes wide and unusually glazed over. Charlie raises an eyebrow; to see Dennis like this is practically unheard of, especially if your name isn’t Mac McDonald. Sure enough, Mac’s rapidly scooting himself closer to Dennis to wrap an arm around his shoulder, a gesture of grounding or solidarity.

“Den, are you okay, dude?” he asks with surprising gentleness. Dennis nods and swallows thickly as he passes the blunt on to Dee. It takes a long second before Dennis responds.

“…Yeah,” he mumbles. “I just… I’ve never heard anyone say it like that.”

Charlie belatedly realizes they’re still talking about… whatever it was that he just said. Suddenly, he feels awkward and unsure of what to do. He settles for a fake coughing fit, hoping it’ll let him off the hook.

It doesn’t. Once the coughing subsides, the other three are still staring at him. Maybe he said something wrong. Maybe they’re surprised that he actually said something smart. Charlie’s not sure. He shrugs again.

“I mean, y’know… It’s just like, trying to be a real boy all the time, right?”

Charlie pauses for a moment, his thoughts wandering. Maybe if he just talks enough, he’ll eventually land on some Dumb Charlie Shit, and then everything will go back to normal.

“But I don’t even know what real boys _are_. I mean, I do, because I hang out with you and Mac all the time, and I watch them and try to figure out what they do, but I still feel like I just don’t _get it_. I feel like everyone sees through me all the time. They know I’m not a real boy.”

He stops, waits for a sign that things are normal again. Instead, he gets a surprisingly compassionate hand from Dee resting on his knee. Definitely not normal.

“Charlie, you _are_ a real boy,” she says. “We can all see you, right? You’re not a reverse ghost or whatever.”

Charlie laughs softly at her and shakes his head. He smiles as he answers her.

“I’m not a real boy, though, Dee,” he murmurs back at her, still smiling. He isn’t sure if it’s a rueful smile or not. He isn’t even sure what he’s saying anymore. The weed’s loosened up his head and his tongue enough that the words are just slipping out now, and he finds he doesn’t really care.

“I’m really, really not.”

Charlie looks up to find Dennis and Dee staring at him with matching frowns and eyebrows drawn low in confusion, the two of them truly looking like twins for once in their lives. Mac, however, looks far more concerned. His mouth is hanging open like he wants to say something; Charlie thinks that if, and _only_ if, he did, then the words would stop and things would go back to normal. Mac always manages to make things normal.

Charlie bites his lip and waits, hoping that Mac will bail him out one more time.

He doesn’t. Everything just hangs—the smoke in the air, Mac’s mouth, Charlie’s words, the rapidly dwindling blunt dangling forgotten in Dee’s free hand.

The deadlock lasts for far too long before Dennis swallows again.

“Charlie.”

He leans forward, a hint of the cold steel in his eyes starting to cut through the haze that’s hung over them all this time.

“What are you talking about?”

Charlie blinks. He coughs. He realizes that he’s caught himself out. No lying his way out of this one.

He sighs heavily and shimmies out of his army jacket, letting it drop unceremoniously to the gravel. Next, he reaches for the hem of his shirt and starts to pull it up—

_“Charlie!”_

Everyone jumps and turns to Mac. He’s staring wide-eyed at Charlie, having finally found his voice. Charlie stares back.

“What, dude?” he asks, more than a little irritated for reasons he can’t explain.

Mac hesitates.

“… Are you _sure_ about this?”

Charlie laughs again, and he’s not sure if it’s bitter or not.

“It’s kinda late for that, isn’t it? Besides, you wanted me to tell them.”

Mac almost looks hurt, and that catches Charlie by surprise. He stares at Charlie, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. Finally, he nods and drops his gaze.

Charlie ignores the sudden knife twisting in his gut and jerks his shirt off in one quick, graceless movement. He takes a breath, shivering a little in the sudden rush of cold on his body, and watches Dennis and Dee.

They take a minute or so to just stare. Charlie wonders if they’re trying to line up the pieces or if they’re just looking at him like he's a circus freak.

Dee speaks first.

“So… You’re…?”

Charlie shrugs.

“Not a real boy,” he says simply.

“That’s not true.”

And _damn_ if that’s not the _last_ thing Charlie expected to hear Dennis say. He whips his head over to look at Dennis, who looks around the group like they’re stupid. (It’s nice to see the real Dennis coming back, part of Charlie thinks.)

“You all haven’t heard of transgender people?”

Charlie blinks as Mac and Dee shake their heads.

“Well, that doesn’t surprise me,” Dennis says, with only the smallest sniff of superiority. “Of course _I_ know about it, since I’m going to be a psych major.”

“Nobody cares, Dennis!”

Dee elbows Dennis in the side, eliciting a sharp yelp from him. Her revenge from earlier exacted, she continues, “Just tell us what you’re talking about.”

“I was _getting to it, Deandra,_ ” he snarls, shooting her a dirty look.

“ _Anyways,_ as I was _saying_ , transgender people are just people who are born and raised as one gender, but decide when they get older that they feel more like the other one. So Charlie _is_ a real boy, he’s just trans… Right?”

Only after another silence does Charlie realize that they’re all staring at him, waiting for him to speak.

“Um… I... Yeah. Yeah, that’s right.”

For the first time in weeks, Charlie genuinely feels something cutting through the fog in his head. He doesn’t know what it is, but it’s something he’s never felt before, and it’s _strong._

“I… There are other people like me?” he asks, voice small.

“People who…?”

He gestures to his shitty makeshift binder, his mediocre makeshift stubble. Dennis nods.

“And you’re… okay with me being like this?”

Dennis looks Charlie up and down in quick appraisal before he speaks.

“Charlie, I still think you’re a strange, disgusting little gremlin boy. Your voice is annoying, you have too many freckles, and if it weren’t for Mac liking you so much, I’d never give you the time of day.”

He sighs and rolls his eyes.

“But… I don’t care about _this_. You’re still the same weird little asshole I’ve hung out with all this time.”

A slow grin starts on Charlie’s face. It’s not nice, but it’s as much as he’d expect from Dennis, and in fact much _more_ than he’s ever hoped to expect from Dennis upon coming out.

Not to be one-upped, Dee cuts in then.

“I’m okay with it too, Charlie! If you ever want to talk about anything at all, or you need help with anything, I’m right here, okay?”

Logically, Charlie knows that half of that is just Dee trying to make herself look better than her brother. Illogically, he doesn’t care.

“You guys… Thanks, Dee,” he says. “And you, too, Dennis.”

A sudden laugh bubbles up out of Charlie. He doesn’t even feel the November chill nipping at his shoulders anymore. Mac, who has been quiet for the past several minutes, leans in with a smile.

“Group hug?” he suggests, biting his lip hopefully. Dennis scoffs and turns to regard him in disbelief, but at the look on Mac’s face, quickly gives in.

“Okay, fine. Group hug.”

Mac immediately launches himself at Charlie, laughing and pinning him to the ground in a tight hug. Charlie laughs too as he feels Dee and Dennis join in, significantly more reluctantly. Then he sniffles, and realizes with a start that he’s crying.

Against the shell of his ear, Charlie hears Mac whisper, “I told you so.”

Charlie shivers then, and he isn't sure why. Probably just because it's cold and he still hasn't put his shirt back on.

“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie whispers back, smiling and shoving good-naturedly at Mac.

The group hug only lasts about a minute, but it feels like an eternity. Once they’ve finally picked themselves up and dusted themselves off, Mac suggests rolling another blunt in celebration.

It’s the best idea Charlie’s heard in forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe this is too nice to be in character, but fuck it, these poor assholes deserve to be nice to each other now and again. (And also I didn't want to write another chapter with a downer ending after the last one.)
> 
> For those who are wondering, Dennis' description of the transgender terminology and community is congruent with what was popular in the late 80s-early 90s. The word transgender came into popular use in the mid-70s and was solidified as the popular term by 1984. It wasn't necessarily widely known, especially in comparison to the gay and lesbian community, but given Dennis' interest in psychology (and his own tendencies toward "feminine" interests), it isn't a stretch to imagine that he would have done at least a little bit of reading on the subject.


	8. holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie isn't expecting to get anything for Christmas. Dee, of all people, decides to change that.

To his surprise, life actually gets easier for Charlie once Dennis and Dee know. Sure, he still has nightmares, and he still owes a great measure of his success to Gorilla Glue, but it’s nice to know that he doesn’t have to worry as much about keeping his secret. It doesn’t really make a difference in the way the Reynolds twins treat him from day to day, but he notices that Dennis doesn’t make jokes about his inability to grow a beard anymore, and Dee seems… Closer to him, in general.

He isn’t sure what that’s about, until one day she sits next to him at the lunch table. Dennis and Mac are still in line together, leaving the two of them alone.

“So, Charlie,” Dee starts conversationally, “What do you want for Christmas?”

“Huh?”

Charlie frowns, crinkling his nose. Dee’s never asked him about what he wants for Christmas before; nobody has, really. Sometimes he and Mac discuss their holiday wishlists, but it’s with the knowledge that they’ll never actually get any of the things on them. Charlie really doesn’t think about Christmas in terms of presents anymore. To him, Christmas is tacky sweaters and dinner with his mom and waking up early on Christmas morning to throw rocks at trains with Mac.

“Aww, c’mon, Charlie!”

Dee laughs too harsh and loud, the way she does when she’s trying to act like she isn’t planning something.

“It’s not a trick question. It’s almost Christmas break—whaddaya _want?”_

Charlie groans to himself and rubs at his forehead. Dee’s obviously running some kind of game here, but if he’s being honest, Charlie doesn’t really care what that game is. His “binder” is chafing him particularly badly today. Couple that with the cramps he’s having, and he’s in no mood for any Reynolds bullshit today.

“Look, Dee,” he grumbles, “I really don’t want anything for Christmas.”

Dee frowns at that.

“Aww, what? Just because my shitty dad doesn’t get _me_ anything for Christmas doesn’t mean YOU can’t have anything!”

Charlie heaves a sigh and thinks of what to say. There’s no easy way to say that his financial situation doesn’t exactly allow him the luxury of having a Christmas list, not even to someone as callous as Dee. So instead of saying anything, he just shrugs and puts his head down on the lunch table.

“I just wanna throw rocks at trains with Mac,” he says simply. And technically, that’s the truth, so hopefully Dee will get off his case.

“Charlie, c’mon!”

The shiny veneer is starting to wear off of Dee’s voice, as is her fake smile. She’s right back to sounding like her perpetually irritated self when next she speaks.

“You’re telling me that if you could have anything in the world, you’d just wish to throw rocks at trains with Mac?”

Charlie opens his mouth to reply, but a sudden cramp hits him and turns his words into a cringe and a hiss. He hunkers lower over the table, trying in vain to alleviate the pain in his stomach.

“Charlie?”

Dee sounds concerned again, and that’s kinda nice. Too bad Charlie’s in no mood for nice right now.

“If I could have anything,” Charlie growls, gritting his teeth, “I’d have a goddamn dick.”

That shuts Dee right up. She just stares at him, mouth slightly agape.

Mac and Dennis arrive at the lunch table to find a still-stunned Dee and a Charlie hunched over the table with a tight-lipped smirk. Neither of them say anything as they sit down, but they exchange questioning looks.

* * *

 

Charlie feels better the next day, at least enough to feel vaguely guilty for the way he snapped at Dee. But it’s the last day before Christmas break, which means assemblies on assemblies on assemblies, which means he doesn’t get a chance to apologize to her, even if he actually wanted to. Honestly, it’s a miracle that he runs into Mac long enough to find out that Charlie’s house has apparently been volunteered for the gang’s Christmas dinner. It bothers Charlie that he wasn’t consulted about it, but he understands; he does have the “nicest” household for warm and fuzzy gatherings, by way of his overbearing mother.

When he gets home and tells Bonnie, she’s thrilled to bits to hear that they’re going to have company on Christmas Eve.

* * *

 

Christmas break slogs by, and Charlie finds himself growing restless at home. Occasionally, he heads out to terrorize the neighborhood with Mac, or the two of them go visit Dee and Dennis, but he finds himself cooped up in his room more often than not. It doesn’t bother him, exactly, and he’s glad for the break from school, but part of him does miss having something to do.               

That’s why, to his own surprise, Charlie is excited for the gang’s Christmas Eve dinner. Granted, he’s nowhere near as excited as his mom, who’s been buzzing about it all week and fretting about getting the house looking presentable, but he’s excited nonetheless.

So much, so, in fact, that he skids to the front door in his fuzzy holiday socks when he hears a knock on Christmas Eve. Charlie opens the door to find Mac, Dennis, and Dee all standing there, in various states of excitement. Mac is beaming, as he always does on Christmas Eve; Dee is just wearing a polite smile, while Dennis looks completely disinterested.

“Hey, guys!” Charlie says in greeting. He’s about to say more, but then his mom swoops in, cutting him off.

“Hey, kids!” she coos, herding everyone into the living room. “You all can drop your jackets anywhere. I’m so glad you could all make it! Charlie and I have been working on dinner all day, haven’t we, my little Gingerbread Man?”

Dee snickers at the nickname as Dennis puts on his charming, grateful gentleman act for Charlie’s mom. Mac just smiles wider and throws his arm over Charlie’s shoulder as the four of them are all herded into the dining room.

“Just like old times, huh?” he asks.

Charlie can’t help but give the smallest laugh as he nods.

“I’m glad you came,” he says.

* * *

 

Dinner goes surprisingly well, Charlie thinks. Dennis only hits on his mom twice, and they manage to make it throughout the entire dinner without anyone starting any fights. After dinner, Ms. Kelly pulls out a tray of gingerbread men that the gang picks apart with impressive speed (after Dennis takes a second to point out with a scoff that the gingerbread men are made to look like Charlie).

Once the last of the cookies are gone as well, Charlie expects Dennis and Dee to take off, while he and Mac retire to his bedroom with the carton of eggnog that Bonnie “accidentally” left out on the table. That’s why it comes as such a surprise to him when the Reynolds twins instead hang around. In fact, they look downright cheerful and excited.

“Uh, guys…?”

Charlie frowns, raising an eyebrow.

“Shouldn’t you, like… be going home soon?”

The question is for Dee and Dennis, but Mac is the one who answers, still wearing that stupidly broad smile.

“We can’t leave before we give you your presents!” he exclaims. Charlie scoffs at that.

“Yeah, right. Really funny, Mac.”

But none of them move. Charlie tilts his head, trying to line the pieces up.

“...Did you guys actually get me a present?”

Dennis sighs and rolls his eyes.

“ _Dee_ got you a present,” he explains dryly. “But we figured we might as well stay here and watch you open it.”

Still confused, Charlie looks over at Dee, eyebrows drawn together in a silent question. Dee shrugs and produces a small package, apparently from the void, acting as though it’s no big deal. Never mind that the gang has _never_ gotten Christmas gifts for each other before.

“I didn’t get you anything,” Charlie says blankly. He isn’t sure what else to say. Dee shakes her head as she slides the package across the table towards Charlie. It’s wrapped in simple, thin gold wrapping paper that feels like it came from the dollar store, but still. Dee bought him a _present_.

Charlie picks it up gently, shaking it in an attempt to figure out what’s inside, but he doesn’t hear a sound.

“Aww, c’mon, dude!” Mac interjects. “Just open it already.”

“Alright, alright!”

Charlie laughs despite himself and waves Mac off with one hand as he starts tearing at the packaging with the other.

Once he gets rid of all the wrapping paper, Charlie finds that Dee’s present looks an awful lot like his binder, only… Better. Running a hand over the material, it feels like it’s nylon, or maybe spandex? Charlie picks it up, investigating it more closely. It’s hard to tell without trying it on, but it seems much more breathable than his undershirt-and-duct-tape rig he’s been using all these years.

“Dee, where’d you get this?” Charlie asks, when he finally looks up from the binder. “This is… I’ve never seen one of these this nice…”

“Do you like it?” Dee asks. “It’s from this new company way out in Miami. They specialize in making stuff like that.”

“It was Dee’s idea to get it for you, but I was the one who _actually_ found it.”

Dennis picks up her explanation like it was planned—which, knowing him, it probably was. Still, Charlie is still too stunned and touched by the gesture to care about that.

“It even looks like my size,” he mumbles, again studying the garment. “How did you…?”

“That was Mac,” Dee explains. Charlie looks over at Mac, who smiles sheepishly and shrugs.

“I’ve helped you with this kinda thing before,” he says. “I just… Sorta remembered.”

Charlie nods.

“Right.”

He really doesn’t know what to say. This is such a huge deal for him; he wonders if his friends truly appreciate the gravity of their gift.

“Do you like it?” Dee asks again, after a moment of silence. Charlie smiles and nods eagerly, though his voice is still soft when he speaks.

“Yeah… I love it.”

Dee’s smile at that actually looks genuine. There’s a weird beat where she and Charlie just stare at each other, both smiling, that’s only broken when Dennis clears his throat.

“Yes, well! Merry Christmas, Charlie,” he announces, all the charisma back in his voice. “You’re welcome again for giving you the best gift ever.”

He stands and starts heading to the living room to pick up his coat. Dee follows him, though she doesn’t seem to be in nearly as much of a hurry.

“As much as we’d like to stay, though,” Dennis continues, “we really do need to be getting back home. I’m sure Dad has another exciting morning of disappointments waiting for us, so we need to get our rest.”

In the interests of being a good host, Charlie follows them to the door, exchanging pleasantries and goodbyes before closing the door behind Dee and Dennis, sending them on their way. Immediately, he and Mac bolt for the eggnog in the kitchen, and then they’re climbing the stairs to his room two at a time.

An hour later, Charlie is lying on his back on the floor, feeling very warm and cozy in his Christmas sweater and eggnog-induced heaviness. Mac is sprawled out next to him, letting Charlie use his arm as a pillow.

“You got me a real binder, dude,” Charlie says, staring up at the ceiling. He still can’t help the giddy, childlike grin that comes to his face when he thinks about it.

“Dee got you a real binder, dude,” Mac replies. “I just helped.”

“Still.”

Charlie sighs happily and lapses into silence. Mac huffs a small laugh before he says, “Whatever. My present’s gonna be way more better. Just wait and see.”

Charlie raises his head and looks over at Mac, one eyebrow raised.

“Did you get me a present, too?”

Mac laughs again, louder this time, and flips Charlie off with his free hand.

“I got you a box of rocks and a train schedule, man.”

Mac gives Charlie a lazy grin. Charlie lights up, smiling back at him as he laughs.

“You’re the best, Mac.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The two of them fall into a companionable silence then. Charlie just lies there looking up at the few stubborn, peeling glow-in-the-dark stars still clinging to his ceiling.

“Merry Christmas, Charlie,” Mac mumbles a few moments later, startling Charlie out of his reverie. With some effort, Charlie lifts his head and glances over to see that Mac is nearly asleep.

“Merry Christmas, Mac,” Charlie answers with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! It's a Christmas chapter! I hope you all enjoy this, even though it is a bit unexpected (even for me). This should also be the last of the high school chapters, so get ready for some fun Frank and Charlie content in the near future!
> 
> Today's fun Trans History Tidbit: the company in Miami that Dennis and Dee order the binder from is Underworks, which was founded in 1997. As far as I've learned from my own experiences and research, Underworks was the first company to make commercially-available, mass-produced binders. Before that, you had to either make your own, improvise from other materials (like sports bras or Ace bandages), or just suffer in silence.


	9. charlie (doesn't) want an abortion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years after his high school graduation, Charlie is surprised to hear from Stacy Corvelli again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'm sorry for the delay in posting this-- last week was very wild for me and I simply didn't have the time to sit down and write. I made this chapter twice as long to compensate, though!
> 
> Secondly, I obviously had to diverge from the canon quite a bit in this chapter in order to make this story work with trans Charlie. Hopefully I did an okay job making it work, but I'd love to hear your thoughts on it no matter what!
> 
> Finally, thank you all for 50 kudos and 400 hits! It's so humbling to know that this fic has proved so well-liked. I hope you all continue to enjoy it!

Somehow, by the grace of God (as Mac would put it), Charlie graduates.

The gang crashes one of their classmates’ graduation parties that night, and after getting kicked out of there, they head back to the Reynolds mansion to have an afterparty on their own. As they all sit on Dennis’ floor, laughing and taking swigs of the expensive vodka Dee swiped from her mother’s bar, Charlie raises his bottle.

“Hey, guys,” he slurs, “thank you. Fer everythin’, y’know?”

“Shut up, dude.”

Mac laughs and shakes his head as he leans back, taking a drink from one of the beers he’d brought along. Charlie turns to look at him and pouts.

“’m serious, Mac!”

Charlie frowns to himself and looks down for a moment, gathering his thoughts. When he remembers what he was saying, he continues.

“I like, wouldn’t’ve even made it _into_ high school without you guys.” He nods to himself, as if to confirm this.

“Soooo, thank you.”

His speech concluded, Charlie lowers his bottle and takes another drink from it. Mac bites back another chuckle as Dennis preens himself, obviously enjoying the praise.

“Of course, Charlie,” Dennis says graciously. “Anything for a friend.”

Dee nods and drinks to her agreement.

“C’mon, enough of this emotional bullshit!” Mac interjects.

“We’re done with high school! Let’s get wasted!”

Charlie cheers along with everyone else and raises his bottle to that.

The hangover he has the next morning feels more like a badge of honor than getting his diploma did.

* * *

 

Years go by—Charlie isn’t sure how many—and life is good.

As good as it can be for a guy like him, at least. His apartment is shit, his landlord is constantly breathing down his neck, and the Waitress still won’t call him back, but still. He has a job. He has his own house and his own binder and people don’t misgender him anymore.

Things could be better, but they could be a hell of a lot worse, too.

It’s an overcast day in Philadelphia, and Charlie is arguing his case for playing basketball with Dennis and Mac instead of refereeing when he hears a defiantly familiar voice from behind him.

“Hey, Charlie! I need to talk to you!”

Charlie turns around. The woman standing there is a bit older, the light in her eyes all-but-extinguished, but there’s no mistaking her.

Stacy Corvelli.

Charlie stands there and just stares, oblivious to Mac and Dennis, even oblivious to what Stacy’s saying, as he relives that night under the bleachers back in high school. He clenches his now-trembling hands to his sides and swallows, trying to keep his composure.

“Charlie, are you listening to me?” Stacy asks. He blinks again, trying to refocus.

“I’m sorry, what?”

He hates how weak and shaky his voice still sounds, even after all these years. Just like high school, though, Stacy doesn’t notice. She just stands there and stares at him, arms crossed.

“I _said_ , it’s about our son,” she says.

For once, everyone is completely silent. Charlie just stands there, dumbstruck. After a moment, he exchanges looks with Mac and Dennis. They look just as confused by this turn of events as Charlie does—Mac is staring at Charlie, one eyebrow raised in a silent question, while Dennis just squints suspiciously. Acting on impulse, Charlie immediately looks to Mac for a bailout, but then stops himself, instead frowning and looking off into the distance.

“… Nobody wants to hear _that,_ ” Dennis says, rather lamely. Charlie turns to glare at him as Stacy breathes a heavy sigh of frustration.

* * *

 

“So wait, she’s saying this is your _son?!”_ Dennis demands an hour later, as the three of them crowd around the bar. Dee is behind the bar, wiping down the counter and pouring coffee for everyone while listening to the story unfold.

“That’s a bunch of bullshit, Charlie,” Mac says. Charlie yells and raises his arms in frustration.

“ _I know!_ I _know_. It’s like, completely impossible,” he says.

“Well, did you have sex with her?” Dee asks. Charlie turns and gives her a dark stare as Mac and Dennis go quiet. Almost immediately, Dee realizes her mistake.

“Shit, Charlie. I’m sorry.”

She frowns apologetically and slides him a mug of coffee. After a moment’s consideration, he takes it with a small nod and turns back to face Mac and Dennis.

“That doesn’t matter,” he says between sips of coffee (Irish coffee, he’s pleased to find—Dee really _was_ sorry).

“It is literally, _physically_ impossible that the kid is my son.”

Dennis, who has been chewing on his lip and gazing thoughtfully into his own mug until now, speaks up.

“Yeah, but…”

Everyone turns to him.

“But what?” Charlie prompts.

Dennis gives a long sigh and fixes Charlie with a pitying look.

“…Does _Stacy_ know that?”

“I—“

Charlie hesitates, thinking back to that night one more time, trying desperately to remember whether or not anything happened that would have tipped Stacy off. When he can’t come up with anything, his shoulders sag.

“…No.”

Dennis nods, almost sadly, before he continues.

“How old’s this kid?”

Charlie is quiet for a long while. When he finally answers, it’s low and reluctant.

“…Like, ten.”

While Mac tries to quickly do the math on his fingers, Dennis frowns.

“Shit, Charlie,” he says.

“The math works out. As far as Stacy knows, you’re the father.”

Charlie groans and turns back to the bar, hunching over himself and taking a long drink of his coffee.

“Are you gonna tell her?” Dee asks.

“No,” Charlie grumbles.

“Why not?” Dee asks with a frown. Charlie gives a low growl of frustration as he sits up to look at her.

“Because I _can’t_ , okay, Dee?” His voice is harsh, but not angry. “Nobody’s _ever_ known except, like, you guys and my mom. I don’t want anyone from high school to know.”

Lower, to himself, he mumbles, “I was already the weird kid. It’d just make it worse.”

Dee doesn’t say anything. She just takes Charlie’s mug from him and refills it for him; Charlie notices that she pours more alcohol into it this time. He’s thankful for that, enough to raise his mug at her afterwards with another small nod of appreciation.

“Well, what are you gonna do, then, dude?” Mac asks gently. “You can’t just pay child support for a kid that isn’t yours.”

“That’s the thing, man.”

Charlie waves a hand at Mac in both dismissal and explanation.

“She doesn’t even _want_ me to pay child support. She just wants me to meet the kid.”

The gang, almost collectively, sighs in relief.

“Is that all?” Dee asks. “Then you’re safe! You’re not gonna do it, right?”

Charlie pushes himself off of the bar and into a standing position.

“I have to,” he declares. Almost immediately, right on cue, the bar explodes with questions from everyone else, mostly of the _‘why?’_ and _‘how come?’_ variety.

“Dude, you don’t owe her anything!” Dennis protests, louder than the others. “Why are you doing this?”

_“Because it’ll shut her up, okay?!”_ Charlie fires back. Everyone falls quiet at that.

“If I meet the kid, then she’ll let me go. If I don’t, she keeps digging at me, right? And I have to either pay child support or get found out.”

“That’s—“ Dennis starts to snap his reply at Charlie, but as he thinks about it, stops and hesitates.

“—that’s fair,” he finishes a moment later.

“Yeah.”

Charlie sighs and, raising his mug, downs half of it in one go. He winces at the sting of the alcohol as he replaces the mug. Once he’s swallowed, he looks back at Dennis.

“…Will you come meet him with me?” Charlie asks.

Dennis blinks, no doubt surprised that Charlie’s asking him instead of Mac.

“Uh… Sure.”

* * *

 

The next morning finds Charlie and Dennis on Stacy Corvelli’s doorstep, Charlie fidgeting and tugging nervously at his shirttails while Dennis rings the doorbell. Dennis turns and, seeing Charlie’s nervousness, offers him a reassuring smile.

“You feeling good?” he asks. It’s probably supposed to be comforting, but just sounds patronizing to Charlie. He keeps scanning the street and shifting from foot to foot as he answers.

“No, I feel nauseous. I think—I’m gonna run. I gotta go.”

“No, hey!”

Dennis grabs him by the shoulder and leans in, briefly locking eyes with Charlie.

“It’s fine, okay? You look _fine._ It’s gonna be fine.”

Charlie hesitates before nodding. Once Dennis lets go of him, Charlie turns back to the door and straightens his shirt one last time, taking the opportunity to recheck his binder. No sooner has he finished that then the door swings open, revealing Stacy standing there with a smile on her face.

“Hey, Charlie!”

She seems genuinely pleased to see Charlie, but when she sees Dennis, her face falls a little.

“Oh!” she exclaims. “You brought your, uh…”

“Dennis Reynolds,” Dennis says, using his most pleasant tone of voice. He offers Stacy a winning smile as he says, “we just talked, but I remember you.”

Stacy frowns and regards him a moment longer, before smiling again in recognition as she remembers.

“You went to Saint Jo’s?” she asks.

“I did, yeah!”

Dennis chuckles and points to Charlie.

“With him.”

Stacy’s eyebrows go up a bit at that. She looks between Dennis and Charlie for a moment and asks, with a nervous laugh, “So you two are together now, or--?”

Charlie looks over at Dennis to see, with some small amusement, that he’s wearing a thinly veiled grimace of disgust that perfectly captures Charlie’s own feelings on the subject.

“No,” the two of them answer, almost in unison.

“I’m just here for moral support,” Dennis explains. Charlie nods his agreement.

“Yeah, he’s—that’s not even a—I just brought him along.”

Dennis chuckles as the three of them stand there, more than a bit awkwardly. Thankfully, Stacy steps aside after just a moment, satisfied with their explanations.

“Alright, well, come on in!”

Charlie stalls at the doorway long enough to make Dennis go in first. He follows Dennis inside to find a house that, judging by Dennis’ small scoff, must be unspeakably quaint and dirty. By Charlie’s standards, however, it’s not a bad place at all—it seems about as big as his or Mac’s childhood homes were, and it’s certainly much bigger and nicer than his own apartment. Several toys litter the entryway, but Stacy’s son is nowhere to be seen or heard. Charlie steps closer to Dennis and stands there in the living room, waiting for something to happen as Stacy sits in an armchair, putting on her shoes.

“I’m real glad you decided to do this, Charlie,” she says.

“Yeah, well,” Charlie shrugs, flashing a small, nervous smile to nobody in particular, “it’s the least I could do.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have a lot of time,” Stacy says with an apologetic smile of her own, “but I need to get to work.”

Still tying her shoes, she suddenly turns her head to yell into the rest of the house, “Tommy! C’mon in here, son!”

“What do you _want,_ Mom?!” a distant, bratty voice replies. Stacy chuckles and gives a very mom-like shrug to Charlie.

“He’s a bit of a handful,” she explains to Charlie, before explaining to Tommy, “Charlie and his friend are here!”

“So goddamn _what?!”_

Charlie glances over at Dennis, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Dennis frowns and looks back at him. Stacy, meanwhile, just heaves a long-suffering sigh, apparently unfazed by all of this.

“Tommy, come in here, please!” Her voice is stringent and insistent, but not threatening.

Finally, Tommy appears from within the house, but before Charlie can even get a good look at the kid, there’s a soccer ball flying towards him. He flinches and starts to jump behind Dennis, but the ball just bounces off of his legs ineffectually. Once the threat has passed, Charlie looks up to see that Tommy… Actually does resemble him a bit. Probably that’s mostly because of the freckles, but looking at him, Charlie can see why Stacy would think he’s the father.

Just as Charlie is starting to kinda like the kid, Tommy scowls and asks, “Which one of you fags is supposed to be my dad?”

“Jesus Christ,” Charlie says, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. Dennis laughs uncomfortably and winces, but doesn’t say anything, apparently leaving Charlie to fight his own battles.

“Seriously, kid?” Charlie asks. “Right off the bat with the homophobia?”

“Tommy, be nice,” Stacy admonishes. She comes to Tommy’s side and places a gentle hand on his shoulder with one hand while pointing to Charlie with the other. He stands up a little straighter and tries to brush the wrinkles out of his shirt.

“This is Charlie.”

“Are you _serious._ ” Tommy says. “ _This_ is the guy?”

Charlie’s expression falls as a million familiar fears and insecurities about looking _man enough_ rush through his mind, drowning out everything else. Dennis nudges him, though, and he remembers himself, forcing a strained smile just in time.

Charlie scoffs and asks, “What’s that supposed to mean, buddy?”

Oblivious to this exchange, Stacy is now collecting her coat and keys in preparation to head out the door.

“Well, I’ll be home around eight,” she says. “What do you all have planned?”

“Weeeell, I thought we’d just go to the park,” Charlie says, Dennis nodding behind him.

“Aw, that sounds nice!” Stacy exclaims. “Wanna go to the park, Tommy?”

 Tommy doesn’t even look up from the video game he’s engrossed in.

“I don’t care,” he sneers. Stacy’s “okay” in response sounds more like a laugh of resignation.

“That’s great,” she says, ruffling Tommy’s hair. “Bye, sweetie.”

As she heads outside, she gives Charlie and Dennis one last nod and says with a smile, “Have fun, boys!”

The moment she’s out the door, everyone drops all their pretenses. Tommy puts his game down and glares up at Charlie and Dennis.

“I’m not going to the park,” he says.

Charlie scowls back down at him, doing his best to look intimidating, while Dennis laughs cruelly and crosses his arms.

“No shit?” Dennis asks. His smile drops.

* * *

 

Charlie sits on the park bench with his arms crossed, sulking and watching Tommy. The kid’s off playing in the disgusting playground sandbox—if kicking sand in the other kids’ faces can be considered playing. Dennis sits next to him, watching the scene unfold, sucking in a quiet breath of sympathy when one of the other kids starts crying from the sand in her eyes.

“That’s gotta hurt,” he says. Charlie shrugs, but the tension stays pent up in his body, prompting him to start fidgeting again.

“Dude, that kid is a nightmare,” he says. Dennis huffs a laugh of agreement.

“Thank God he’s not yours, right?”

Charlie nods, but none of the anger leaves his shoulders. He drops them, though, when Tommy approaches the bench a minute later.

“Why are we here?” Tommy asks, still just as sullen and defiant as he was earlier that morning. Charlie sighs and rubs at his temples before answering.

“We’re here for father-son bonding,” Charlie says dryly.

“Why?”

“Because I’m your dad and this is a nice place for families to play, okay?”

Charlie wishes he were saying that based on his own experiences, but he really has no idea. The most fun he ever had at this playground growing up was sitting on top of the monkey bars at night smoking with Mac, and he’s never had a dad to do anything with him.

“Why?” Tommy asks again. Charlie groans and rolls his eyes.

“Seriously, Tommy? This is what we’re doing again? It’s really annoying. Stop it.”

“Why? Why? Why?”

Charlie yells in frustration and moves all at once to clamp a hand over Tommy’s mouth.  Dennis rises to his feet, ready to move between them and pry them apart before Charlie gets the cops called on him for child abuse, but Charlie yelps again and jerks back just a moment later, clutching his hand.

“He bit me!” Charlie yells as he jabs an accusing finger at Tommy. Dennis turns to glare at Tommy, who’s smiling triumphantly back at both of them.

“I wanna go to the mall,” Tommy says.

“Absolutely not,” Charlie replies, in what he hopes is a strict, fatherly tone. When Tommy just bares his teeth at him again, though, Dennis steps in between them, and kneels down so he’s eye level with Tommy.

“Alright, you little savage,” Dennis hisses. “You listen to me, okay? You see that man?”

He turns and points to Charlie, who’s reclaimed his spot on the bench and is now hunched over his hand, wincing and poking at the bite mark there.

“That man is your father,” Dennis continues, “and you’re goddamn lucky that he is. Do you know why?”

Tommy just scowls at Dennis without a word.

“Charlie doesn’t _have_ a dad,” Dennis whispers. “That means he doesn’t know how they’re supposed to act. He wants to be a good father for you since nobody was ever a good father for him.”

“So what?” Tommy demands.

“So what,” Dennis says, “is that I don’t have the same problem. I _did_ have a dad, and he was _terrible_ to me. And it taught me a thing or two.”

Dennis grins menacingly and leans in closer. Tommy actually takes a step back.

“So you better be nice to Charlie, or I’ll tell him just how a dad is _supposed_ to treat his kids. Understand?”

Tommy nods. Dennis immediately rises and turns back to Charlie with a smile.

“Good news, Charlie! Tommy here’s real sorry for being so mean to you.”

Charlie looks skeptically between his hand and Tommy for a moment, before letting his gaze fall to rest on Tommy.

“Apology accepted,” he says. “Now, how about we go back to the bar?”

Dennis laughs.

“That sounds great! Tommy? Any complaints?”

Tommy looks down and shakes his head.

* * *

 

“Nice kid, Charlie,” Dee says, as she, Charlie, and Dennis watch Tommy frantically ramming the rods of the bar’s foosball table.

“What the hell do you think is wrong with that kid?” Charlie asks without looking away. As ridiculous as Tommy’s rod-ramming is, there’s something almost hypnotic about it. Dennis just shakes his head.

“You gotta get rid of this kid, dude. Mac and I will even pay for your child support ourselves if we have to.”

Charlie looks at him in pleased surprise.

“You would really do that?”

Dennis shrugs.

“Mac would.”

Dee rolls her eyes, but before she can say anything, a new whacking sound reaches their ears. She and the others look over to see that Tommy is now smacking the tiny plastic foosball players with a pool cue. Charlie yelps and rushes over to Tommy, where he begins trying to wrest the pool cue out of his pretend son’s hands. Dee and Dennis watch in silence, Dennis _tsking_ sadly at it all.

“It’s a really good thing Charlie isn’t a dad,” Dee murmurs under the racket of Charlie and Tommy yelling at each other. Dennis hums in agreement.

“He’s still doing a better job than our dad, though,” he points out. Dee laughs bitterly.

“Good point.”

Their conversation is interrupted then by Charlie, who comes their way dragging Tommy behind him with the pool cue still in tow.

“Dennis, c’mon. We’re going to the mall.”

Dennis scoffs and shakes his head.

“No way I’m spending _any_ more time with that kid, dude.”

_“C’mon, dude!”_

Charlie heaves another sigh.

“Fine, whatever. Dee? Dee, will you _please_ come to the mall with me?”

Dee frowns, but nods nonetheless.

“I guess so, as long as Dennis watches the bar.”

“Fine, no problem,” Dennis says.

Dee is just coming around the corner of the bar to leave when Tommy suddenly clotheslines Charlie with the pool cue. Charlie goes down with a shout, leaving it up to Dee and Dennis to restrain Tommy from getting in any more hits.

* * *

 

Charlie and Dee stand in one corner of the toy store, supposedly watching Tommy as they talk.

“Charlie, what are you gonna do if Stacy keeps stringing you along like this?” Dee asks. “This kid is a monster.”

“I know,” Charlie says, sighing and running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I know. But I think this is gonna be it. Stacy really just wanted me to babysit today, I think.”

“I hope so.”

Dee winces as she watches Tommy pull a toy gun on another kid, yelling a “BANG!” as he pretends to blow the kid’s head off.

“I really, really hope so.”

“Oh, shit,” Charlie suddenly breathes.

“Is that the Waitress?”

“What? Where?”

Dee instantly whips her head over to follow Charlie’s gaze. Charlie could curse her for being so obvious, but right now he has bigger things to worry about… Such as Tommy approaching the Waitress from behind with an armful of giant rubber spiders and an expression of wicked delight on his face.

Charlie is in action almost before he can think about it, hurdle-jumping a display of robotic dogs and dashing up to Tommy. He catches Tommy just in time to stop him from shoving the spiders down the Waitress’s shirt, but not quickly enough to stop Tommy from angrily crying out in protest.

The Waitress jumps and turns around. When she sees Charlie, though, her expression changes from fear to simple annoyance almost instantly. Still, though, she looks confused at the small demon child wriggling in Charlie’s grasp.

“Oh, Charlie,” she begins. “It’s you.”

Charlie flashes her a quick smile, unsure of what else to do.

“Hey!” he greets. “Fancy running into you here.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, regarding him with a look of skepticism, “I guess so.” She nods at Tommy.

“Who’s this?”

“Oh, this guy?!” Charlie forces a chuckle and loosens his grip on Tommy. Ruffling his hair, he continues, “This is Tommy. He’s my… My, uh—“

“His cousin!”

Charlie isn’t sure when Dee got there, but there she is, with a smile and an explanation that both feel far more natural than anything Charlie can manage.

“Oh, right,” the Waitress says. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

_Make her jealous._ Charlie instantly opens his mouth to claim Dee as his girlfriend, but she speaks up before he gets a chance.

“I’m Charlie’s friend Dee!” she laughs. “C’mon, you remember me.”

The Waitress fixes Dee with a long, tired look, before nodding. Charlie can’t tell if it’s in acceptance or resignation.

“Well, anyways, Charlie, it was good seeing you,” the Waitress says. “Have fun with your cousin.”

“Wait!” Charlie calls, but the Waitress turns and walks on, no longer listening to him.

Charlie sighs as Tommy finally struggles free of his grip and whirls to start pelting him with the rubber spiders. Dee reaches out and gives him a single sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

* * *

 

Finally, mercifully, Charlie’s day with Tommy has come to an end. He sits hunched over on Stacy’s doorstep, while she leans on the pillar next to him with a cigarette.

“So he really didn’t give you any problems?” she asks, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, what can I say?” Charlie lies. “He’s… Really something.”

Stacy laughs and blows out smoke.

“That’s one way of putting it,” she mutters.

“No, really, I mean it!” Charlie says. “He’s a cool kid.”

Even Charlie doesn’t know why he’s being so nice about it. Tommy is most definitely _not_ a cool kid, and Charlie sincerely hopes that he never has to see the little monster ever again. Still, there’s no reason Stacy needs to know about that; Charlie gets the feeling that, if Tommy treats Stacy the same way he treated him, Stacy has enough on her plate already. Lying and being nice just this once won’t kill him.

“Well… Thanks,” Stacy says. Charlie nods.

“Yeah.”

Silence stretches between the two of them then. Just as Charlie is thinking he should stand up and go, he hears sniffling. He looks up in surprise to see that Stacy is tearing up.

“Woah, Stacy…”

He cautiously stands, takes a few steps closer to her.

“Are you okay?”

When she notices Charlie approaching her, she quickly shakes her head, letting out a shuddering sigh as she drops her cigarette and grinds it out under her shoe.

“Dammit.”

She walks back onto the porch to take a seat in one of the chairs there. Charlie follows her.

“What’s up?” Charlie prompts again, more gently this time. Stacy watches the street traffic without looking at him, a mirror image of the nerves Charlie himself was displaying on the porch just that morning.

“Tommy’s not your son,” Stacy says. It’s not news to Charlie, but it still surprises him to hear her say that. He just stares at her, blinking.

“I… What?” he asks. Does she know? Has she always known? Charlie starts to feel sick as the memory of his homecoming comes flooding back for what feels like the hundredth time that day. Did something happen that he forgot about? Maybe Stacy has known this whole time. Maybe this was just a cruel joke she was playing on Charlie to make him feel like shit about himself. Maybe—

“Do you remember Jimmy Doyle, from high school?” Stacy asks. “That son of a bitch is Tommy’s real father. He left me six months ago.”

Charlie blinks again. So… Stacy doesn’t know, after all? That’s a relief. He relaxes his shoulders, releasing some of the tension there that he didn’t know he was holding until this very moment. Still, he keeps his expression of surprise on, lest Stacy get the wrong impression.

“Charlie, you have no idea what a nightmare it is trying to make ends meet without him,” Stacy goes on, trying to explain herself. Charlie gets it, he does, but he’s still pretty upset that he’s been put through all the day’s punishment for nothing.

“So you just decided to pawn your son off on me?” he asks, and shit, that sounded a lot more bitter than he meant it to.

“What else was I supposed to do?” Stacy asks, sadness and vindictive pain in her voice. “I just thought I could find him a better role model than _that_ piece of shit.”

She nods out to the street, as if Jimmy Doyle were standing right there in front of her house. Charlie scoffs.

“You wanted a good role model, and you picked _me?_ ”

Stacy shrugs, pulling out another cigarette.

“Tommy’s ten,” she says. “You’re the only other guy who could possibly have been his father. So I really didn’t have a choice, did I?”

Charlie is quiet for a long moment.

“Can I have a cigarette?” he finally asks.

Stacy nods and hands one over, even lighting it for him.

They smoke together in silence.

Once his cigarette is finished, the sunset is turning into purple twilight. As Charlie stands to leave, Stacy stands too.

“Hey, Charlie?”

He turns to look at her, cold but not unkind.

“What?”

She nods at him and extends her hand.

“Thanks for babysitting Tommy today. I just… Really needed a day off.”

Charlie hesitates before taking her hand and shaking it.

“No, problem, Stacy.”

He walks down the porch steps pensively, stopping again once he reaches the sidewalk.

“Take care of yourself, okay, Stacy?”

She nods, smiling just a little bit.

“You too, Charlie.”

Charlie nods and turns on his heel, beginning the walk home.

* * *

 

“So she’s just letting you off the hook?” Dee asks, once Charlie’s made it back to the bar that night. Charlie nods as he takes a swig of his beer.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess all she really wanted was a day off.”

“Huh.” Dee frowns at that. “I guess I can’t blame her. Tommy really was awful.”

“Oh, he’s the worst!” Charlie agrees.

Then Mac skids into the bar, yelling his traditional “Heeeey-ohhhh!” as he does.

“Guys, you’ll _never_ guess what _I_ did today!”


	10. charlie fights transphobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie thought his biggest problem was lying about having cancer, but the rest of the gang proves him wrong when Mac meets Carmen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait between this update and the last-- this past week was my midterms week at school and I was basically busy nonstop. I'm on fall break, now though, so I may be able to get another update posted between now and Tuesday!

Charlie _knew_ he shouldn’t have told Dennis about the cancer thing.

It all started as a plan to win the Waitress’ sympathies, to get her to spend more time with him, but then Dennis came over and Charlie blurted it to him without a second thought. He’d tried to cover his tracks by making Dennis promise not to tell anyone else, but judging by the way the gang’s been tiptoeing around him for the past few days, Charlie’s sure that Dennis blabbed. Sooner or later it’s going to bite him in the ass, when they find out he doesn’t actually have cancer.

Tonight, though, it’s just the four of them hanging out in the bar. Everyone seems to have had enough drinks in them to forget that Charlie (allegedly) has cancer, because they’re all acting completely normal. Charlie takes a small sip of his beer as his surveys the bar. Dennis and Dee are bickering about something, as usual, and Mac is over at the pool table, chatting up…

“Oh, shit!” Charlie exclaims, prompting Dennis and Dee to look over at him. He nods over to the woman at the pool table, who is currently making bedroom eyes at Mac and suggestively sliding her hand down her pool cue.

“I know her!”

Dee raises a doubtful eyebrow at him, while Dennis outright laughs.

_“You_ know _her?”_ he asks scathingly. “Charlie, where the hell does someone like you meet a girl like _that?”_

Charlie frowns and flicks a wadded-up shred of his napkin at Dennis.

“Dude, shut up! I do too know her. Her name’s Carmen and she’s totally cool.”

“Yeah, right.”

Dennis scoffs and flicks the napkin wad back at Charlie.

“Where’d you meet her, then?”

Charlie opens his mouth, but hesitates. He knows Carmen’s open about it, but part of him still feels gross talking about it without her there. Still, Dennis and Dee are still staring at him expectantly, so he continues.

“I met her at this trans support group I go to sometimes.”

He goes for casual with his tone, and it apparently works, because Dennis and Dee just nod understandingly in response.

Then they realize what he said. It’s a good thing Dennis didn’t have any beer in his mouth, Charlie thinks, because he looks like he definitely would have spat it out if he had.

“Wait a minute,” Dennis says. “She’s--?”

Charlie sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Yes, Dennis, she’s trans. I’m not the only one on the planet, believe it or not.”

Dee stares at Carmen, her gaze suddenly scrutinizing, while Dennis stammers in protest.

“B-but, she—she—she looks so _real!”_

Sudden anger flares up in Charlie. He glares at Dennis and says flatly, “She _is_ real. She’s standing right there.”

Dennis swallows and nods, taking a long drink of his beer.

“Right,” he says haltingly, after replacing the bottle on the bar. “I just meant that she doesn’t—“

“Doesn’t what?” Charlie demands. Dennis blinks, looking almost fearfully at Charlie before dropping his gaze.

“…she doesn’t look like a man,” he mumbles.

Before anyone can react, Charlie’s jumped off his stool and is standing in front of Dennis, grabbing him by the shirt collar and pulling him down.

“Because she’s _not a_ _fucking man_ , Dennis. Do I look like a woman?” Charlie growls. Dennis doesn’t answer, instead struggling in vain to get out of Charlie’s grip. Charlie yanks him harder, and he stops squirming.

_“Do I?”_ Charlie repeats. Wide-eyed, Dennis frantically shakes his head no.

“That’s right,” Charlie nods, a dark grin creeping across his face. Raising his free hand to jab a finger at Dennis, he hisses, “You listen to me, okay? It’s hard e-fucking- _nough_ for us without people like you making dumbass comments like that. If I ever hear you say _anything_ like that about Carmen again, I will _beat your ass_ into next year, do you understand me?”

Still silent, Dennis nods, swallowing hard enough that Charlie can feel it where his thumb is grazing his throat. It’s too bad he’ll probably never look this terrified again in his life, Charlie thinks. Someone really needs to put Dennis in his place more often.

Satisfied that he’s put the fear of God into him, Charlie finally releases Dennis’ collar. Dennis sits back on his stool with an audible sigh of relief and immediately throws back another long drink of beer. Dee just stares at Charlie, apparently dumbstruck. Casually, Charlie dusts himself off and hops back onto his stool, grabbing his own bottle of beer.

“Dee?” he says conversationally between sips, and she actually flinches.

“Yes, Charlie?” she asks.

“Everything I said to Dennis goes for you, too, okay?”

He doesn’t even look at her as he says it, just keeps watching the bar.

“Of course,” she replies, her voice just a little bit shaky.

The three of them fall into an anxious, uneasy silence then, but it only lasts for a minute at most before Mac bounds over to them like an excited puppy.

“Guys, I just found the perfect girl!” he exclaims with a grin.

“Smart, beautiful, the whole thing.”

He turns back to the pool table and nods in Carmen’s direction.

“Oh, yeah?” Dennis asks weakly, attempting a smile. Dee doesn’t say anything, instead focusing on wiping down the counter. Only Charlie has the sense to stop acting like somebody died and say something.

“That’s great, dude!” he says, raising his hand for a high-five. Mac eagerly obliges him. “Her name’s Carmen, right?”

“Yeah,” Mac answers, looking confused. “How’d you know?”

“She and I are kinda friends,” Charlie replies. “We sort of run in similar circles, that kinda thing.”

Charlie can feel Dee and Dennis staring at him questioningly, but he just shrugs it off. Honestly, Mac doesn’t need to know, especially not from anyone other than Carmen herself. And while Charlie likes to think that Mac wouldn’t be as completely disgusting about it as Dennis was, he’s in no hurry to find out. After all, he’s already met his daily quota for threatening physical violence to transphobes.

Thankfully, Mac accepts Charlie’s explanation without a second thought.

“Holy shit, dude, really?” he asks. “That’s great! Can you go ask her if she’s into me? I mean, there’s no way she _isn’t_ into me, because _duh_ , but can you go ask her anyway?”

Charlie laughs at Mac’s enthusiasm.

“Yeah, man, I gotcha covered,” he chuckles, hopping off his stool again. “Here, keep my spot warm while I go talk to her.”

Mac obligingly takes Charlie’s seat as he heads over to the pool table. As Charlie walks away, he can hear Dee hiss, “Mac, you idiot, we’re supposed to be finding a girl for _Charlie!_ ”

Ah. So maybe they haven’t forgotten about the whole cancer thing after all.

Regardless, that’s a problem for another time; right now, Charlie is on wingman duty. When Carmen notices him approaching, she smiles and waves.

“Hey, Charlie!” she greets him as he grabs a pool cue. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Yeah, this is actually my bar,” Charlie replies, chalking up his cue. “It’s good to see you, Carmen.”

She smiles and steps aside from the table, letting Charlie take a shot. He shoots for the 7 but ends up sinking the 2 instead; still, that’s not a bad play. Carmen immediately shows him up, though, sinking the 12 and the 14 in one shot.

“Damn, you’re good,” Charlie says, leaning on his cue. “You must have a lot of practice handling balls.”

Carmen laughs at the joke and flips him off before she lines up her next shot.

“Fuck off, Charlie,” she replies. “It’s not my fault you don’t have any experience with them.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves her off with a laugh of his own. Sometimes he forgets how nice it is to be able to joke about things with people who actually get it.

“Anyways,” Carmen asks, a couple shots later, “what brings you to my corner tonight? It can’t be pool, because you fucking suck at this.”

Charlie smiles sheepishly at her from across the table.

“You got me,” he says. “I actually came over because my buddy Mac wanted me to ask you what you think of him.”

He turns over his shoulder and nods briefly at Mac, still sitting with Dennis and Dee. When he notices Charlie and Carmen looking at him, he nearly fumbles his beer in an attempt to look casual, leaning against the bar and running one hand through his hair.

He’s so stupid when he does stuff like that, Charlie thinks. Stupid and kinda cute.

But _definitely_ mostly stupid.

“Oh, the one with the puppy-dog eyes?” Carmen asks, breaking Charlie out of that very strange tangent of thought.

“Mhm, that’s him,” Charlie replies as he takes another shot. The only thing he pockets is the cue ball.

“Yeah, I like him,” Carmen answers easily, fishing the cue ball out of the pocket. “He’s adorable, and he’s just the right amount of stupid, you know what I mean?”

“Well, you’re definitely right about the stupid part,” Charlie jokes. They share a laugh at that.

“Dare I ask what he thinks of me?” Carmen asks then. Charlie can tell by her tone, though, that she already knows the answer to her question.

“C’mon, Carmen,” Charlie says. “He sent me over here to talk to you.”

“Fair enough,” she smirks. “So you don’t mind if I go after him?”

Charlie barks an almost-forced sounding laugh.

“Hell no! Why would I?”

Carmen raises her hands in a placating gesture.

“Hey, friends of friends and all that!” she explains. “I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be weird about it.”

“Nah, you know me,” Charlie jokes, “I’m never weird.”

Carmen scoffs.

“Yeah, right.”

She takes another shot, sending the 15 into the pocket and winning her the game. Standing up and leaning against her cue, she grins, “Now why don’t you head back over there and send his ass my way?”

Charlie smiles back and nods, putting down his cue and heading back to the bar. When he gets there, he finds Mac practically bouncing on the barstool.

“Well?!” he demands. “What’d she say?”

Charlie just smiles and nods in the direction of the pool table.

“Go for it, dude.”

Mac is off like a shot, all but running back to the pool table.

Dennis and Dee still won’t look at Charlie, and he’s not sure if it’s because of the “cancer” or because of what he said earlier.

* * *

 

A few days later, Charlie gets a call from Mac, asking him to come over. There’s a nagging voice in Charlie’s head telling him that this probably isn’t good, because Mac almost _never_ invites him over anymore, but the louder voice in Charlie’s head is telling him to seize this rare opportunity to hang out.

Charlie listens to the louder one.

When Mac opens the door for Charlie, he just nods at him, no smile to be seen.

“Charlie,” he says, stepping aside stiffly. “Come on in.”

As Charlie walks into the room, he thinks that maybe he should have listened to that quiet little nagging voice from before. But it’s too late now, so he just heads into the living room and takes a seat on the couch.

“What’s up, Mac?” he asks, trying his best to stay calm and casual. Maybe that’ll defuse whatever tension Mac is carrying right now.

No such luck. As soon as he’s closed the apartment door, Mac whirls on his heel and jabs an accusing finger in Charlie’s direction.

“You know goddamn well what’s up!” he snaps. Charlie can’t stop himself from flinching, but he manages to stay otherwise calm. He knew someone in the gang was bound to figure out he didn’t have cancer sooner or later—he just didn’t think it would be Mac.

Still, he’s not going to admit to it unless he’s directly accused. So Charlie just blinks placidly and says, “No, Mac, I really don’t. You didn’t tell me anything on the phone.”

Instead of calming down, Mac only seems to get angrier at Charlie’s cool demeanor.

“You set me up with Carmen!”

“Is that what this is about?”

Charlie frowns and tilts his head.

“You _wanted_ me to set you up with her, dude! What, did she snub you or something? That’s not my fault!” he protests. Mac takes a long sigh through his nose before he replies.

“No, she didn’t snub me,” he grits out.

“Then what?” Charlie asks.

Mac stands there, just staring at him. Then he looks down, shuffling his feet, and Charlie feels his stomach bottom out.

Oh.

Oh, _no._

“You didn’t tell me about her _situation,_ ” Mac grumbles, still staring at the floor.

Charlie opens and shuts his mouth several times before he finally manages to spit something out.

“It wasn’t my place to tell,” he says weakly. Mac slowly raises his head again to glare at him.

“I’m just saying. I would have appreciated some warning.”

If it were Dennis saying any of this, Charlie would have had no problem getting angry and shutting him down, but it’s Mac. _Mac,_ who’s been Charlie’s best and closest ally since day fucking _one_.

Charlie just stares at Mac, wounded and bitter.

“Like you got a warning about me?” he asks, voice low and harsh with sarcasm.

Mac swallows, some of the anger falling out of his shoulders.

“I—“

He sighs again.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Charlie.”

“Then what did you mean?”

Charlie draws his knees up to his chest, cradling the pillow resting on the couch as he continues glaring at Mac.

“I just… I wasn’t expecting it, Charlie. It’s not that it’s a _problem,_ it’s just that—“

“Not a problem?”

Charlie gives a bitter scoff and draws closer into himself.

“You’re making a big deal about it if it’s not a problem.”

Mac stares at him a moment longer. Then, to Charlie’s surprise, he actually comes over and takes a seat next to him on the couch. Instead of looking at Charlie, he picks up the TV remote and turns on some college football game. Mac stares at the screen and not at Charlie, but he turns down the volume low enough for them to talk.

“I know that maybe you don’t get this—and that’s okay,” Mac says, as calmly and quietly as he can manage, “but people expect things when it comes to sex. And if I’m having sex with a girl, I don’t expect—“

“Shut up,” Charlie mutters into the pillow, hugging it closer to himself and closing his eyes. “Just shut up.”

“No, let me finish,” Mac insists.

“I just… Didn’t expect it. All I’m saying is that it would have been nice to know beforehand that it was going to be gay.”

Charlie reluctantly lifts his head from the pillow and stares at Mac.

“Mac,” Charlie says, and for the first time since he sat down, Mac actually puts down the remote and looks at him.

“Yeah?”

Charlie takes a shallow breath before speaking. He hadn’t realized until now how upset he really is about this.

“If you and I banged,” Charlie slowly says, “would that be gay?”

Mac frowns, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“Ew, dude. Of course it’d be gay.”

“But I don’t have a dick.”

Charlie stares at Mac, raising one eyebrow in a rhetorical question.

“That doesn’t matter, Charlie!” Mac protests. “You’re a guy anyways! It’d be way too gay!”

Charlie raises a hand to silence Mac. Once he’s quietened down, Charlie asks:

“So what makes Carmen any different?”

He can practically hear the gears whirring in Mac’s head as he looks down, thinking through Charlie’s thought experiment. He’s also pretty sure he can see the lightbulb go off when Mac finally gets it.

“…You’re right,” he mumbles. “It’s the same thing.”

“Yeah,” Charlie agrees.

“It’s the same thing.”

There’s a long moment of silence between them. Finally, Mac sighs and picks up the remote again.

“I think The Simpsons is on right now,” he says. “If you’d rather watch that.”

Charlie nods as he starts uncurling himself from around the pillow.

“Sure, man.”

Mac flips the channel a few times before landing on Bart and Lisa sneaking into Mr. Burns’ mansion to steal back some puppies.

“Ah, shit,” Charlie says, smiling a little. “This is one of my favorites.”

Mac smiles back at him as he settles back into place.

They watch the rest of the episode in silence. Charlie knows this is probably as close to an apology from Mac as he’s going to get, but for some reason, he finds he doesn’t mind.

Dennis comes into the apartment not ten minutes later, announcing that Sweet Dee is in. In what, Charlie has no idea.

* * *

 

One week (and one very expensive date with the Waitress) later, Charlie finally figures that the jig is up. He admits to Dennis that he never had cancer, which leads to a screaming match with Dennis in the men’s restroom at Paddy’s, which leads to a screaming match with Dee and Dennis in the bar, which leads to everyone ignoring Mac as he shambles in and takes a seat at the bar, pouring himself a shot and downing it all in one go.

Finally, though, Dee turns and yells, “Guess _what,_ Mac?! Charlie never actually _had_ cancer! He was _lying_ to us! Isn’t that _great?!”_

“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbles. “Carmen dumped me.”

His reaction is so unexpected that everyone stops mid-argument.

“I’m sorry, what?” Dennis asks, after a long moment of hesitation.

“Yeah,” Mac says. “She said I have a lot of internalized prejudice to work through and that she hopes Charlie beats some sense into me.”

He pours another shot and downs it just as easily.

“Or else _she_ will,” he finishes.

Charlie frowns. Despite everything, part of him does feel sorry for Mac.

He’s just about to apologize when Dee says, “Well, who cares about any of that?! Charlie _lied about having cancer!”_

Any sympathetic words Charlie had are forgotten as he goes back to defending himself against Dee and Dennis.


	11. charlie didn't get molested

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn't. It never happened. No matter what the nightmares say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I am SO sorry for how long it's taken me to update this-- hopefully the length of this chapter can be the solid beginning of my apology to all of you. It's just been a rough few months for me all around, and I've struggled with finding the motivation in myself to update it. I wouldn't hold my breath just yet, but hopefully you'll see this fic returning to a more regular update schedule soon!
> 
> Anyways, I spent so much time and so many words on this episode because I have a lot of problems with how it was handled in canon, especially Mac's glaring absence from any scenes involving Charlie. That was the main thing I wanted to address when I wrote this chapter.

Charlie doesn’t wanna talk about it. He really, really doesn’t.

He knows that’s why everyone is walking on eggshells around him all of a sudden. They think it happened to him. They think he’s afraid to talk about it. Bullshit, Charlie thinks. You can’t talk about something that didn’t happen to you.

(It _didn’t_ happen to him. It _didn’t_. He has nightmares and he hates being touched and people with mustaches scare him but _it didn’t happen to him.)_

God _damn_ those McPoyles. It was just like them to take a joke (because that’s all it was, a joke) and take it way too far.

* * *

 

“This makes so much sense, Dee,” Dennis says to her as the three of them converge in his apartment. Mac leans against the kitchen doorway, listening to the two of them as they talk in the living room.  “I can’t believe I didn’t realize sooner that Charlie was abused as a kid.”

“What do you mean?” Dee asks, tilting her head in confusion. Dennis gives a quiet sigh as he rolls his eyes.

“Look, it… It explains why he’s trans.”

“Dude, what?” Mac interjects with a frown.

“That doesn’t make any sense, Den. I’ve known him since we were like, 5, and he’s always been a guy.”

“You two were 5 when he got _molested_ , asshole!” Dennis snaps. Mac opens his mouth to fire back a retort, but falls silent at the realization that he has none. Dee, however, has no such trouble.

“No way, Dennis, that’s bullshit,” she continues. “Either people are trans or they aren’t. People don’t just change their entire fucking _gender_ because they got molested!”

“Would both of you let me finish?” Dennis asks, pinching his nose in irritation. Dee growls under her breath, but otherwise stops talking.

_“Thank you,”_ Dennis says. “Now as I was saying… one of the most common responses to childhood trauma—like getting molested—is dissociation, right?”

Dee nods, Mac following her lead a few seconds later. A few seconds after that, though, he shakes his head and raises a hand. When Dennis notices, he groans in frustration.

“For God’s sake, Mac, what is it?”

Mac shuffles, looking down at his feet.

“I don’t know what that means,” he mumbles.

“Mac,” Dee says, “this is why you should be out there looking after Charlie while the grown-ups do the talking. Honestly, why are you even _here?_ Did _you_ study psychology at Penn?”

“…No.”

Mac keeps his head ducked, but his voice is more than a little bitter.

“Exactly,” Dennis says, his voice soft and low. Then, a moment later, he sighs and adds, “Dissociation is when your mind feels disconnected from your body. It’s like radio static, but in your head. Get it?”

Judging by the look on his face, Mac doesn’t get it, but he nods nonetheless.

“Can I go on, then?” Dennis asks. Mac nods again.

“Great.”

Dennis sits up in his chair, brushing down his shirt as he does.

“So here’s a scenario: A little girl gets molested by her gym coach one day, right? It scares her. She notices he doesn’t do it to the little boys in class. She dissociates, because it’s her body’s fault that she got molested. With me?”

Dee leans forward in her own chair, fingers steepling together as she listens. Mac stays still, leaning in the doorway, but he’s wearing an expression of intense focus.

“The little girl decides that she hates her body. She decides that, if only she were like the other boys, this horrible thing wouldn’t have happened to her. She decides… That she wants to be a boy, too, so this doesn’t happen to her ever again.”

Dee sits back in surprise as Dennis lays down the last piece of his puzzle. Even Mac stands up straight, eyes wide with surprise.

“Holy shit, dude,” he breathes. Dennis nods, expression grim.

“Yeah. Holy shit.”

There’s a long beat of silence as the three of them absorb that information.

“But wait,” Mac says, a few seconds later. “The article said Murray molested boys, right?”

Dennis nods.

“So why would he have molested Charlie if he thought Charlie was a girl? That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Is that what you’re choosing to focus on right now, Mac?!” Dee demands. “Your childhood best friend got molested and you’re trying to figure out the asshole’s sexuality?!”

“No way, Dee,” Mac protests, finally stepping away from the doorway as he heads for the front door. “Trust me, something about this doesn’t add up.”

“You’re just overthinking!” Dennis cries out—that’s something he never thought he’d be accusing Mac of. “We should be focusing on Charlie right now!”

As Mac reaches the door, he pulls it open, turning to look over his shoulder.

“I know what I’m doing,” Mac says. Then he’s gone, the door swinging closed behind him.

After a second or two spent staring at the doorway, waiting for him to return, Dee and Dennis realize he isn’t coming back and return their attention to each other.

“… So I think we should give Charlie an intervention,” Dee finally begins. Dennis snorts aloud and flings a pen at her.

“Are you fucking _serious?”_

* * *

 

Charlie can physically feel his skin crawling as he sits on the couch in the McPoyles’ living room. The country music drawling across the room feels endless, a vaguely sinister drone amidst the heat and the damp of the apartment. There’s even a taxidermied squirrel on the coffee table.

_You shouldn’t have come here._

The thought rolls through his mind for the third time in as many minutes when Liam asks, “So, did you want a beverage of some kind?”

_“No!”_ Charlie snaps, his irritation plain his voice. “Where’s your brother, dude?”

“We just stepped out of the shower, he’ll be down in a minute.” Liam says—that explains the towel. His voice is flat, dull, as he says it, lying languid in his chair and regarding Charlie with a blank expression.

Lizard. He reminds Charlie of a lizard.

Charlie doesn’t like lizards.

“Alright,” Charlie says, “well you can’t just go around—“

Wait a second.

Charlie stops and turns to look at Liam in horror.

“Did you just say _‘we?’”_

We, as in Liam and Ryan? Liam and his brother? Charlie’s stomach drops, and he feels sick all over again for reasons he can’t quite place.

“What?” Liam’s voice is still so flat, devoid of life.

“Did you just say ' _we_ just stepped out of the shower'?” Charlie demands again, his voice rising in intensity.

Liam finally shows the slightest hint of life, his eyes flickering over Charlie’s face, down to his lips, before coming back up to meet his eyes once again. Charlie liked it better when he didn’t move.

“… I said ‘he.’”

Charlie stares at Liam for a long time, trying to decide where to start, before finally dropping it altogether. No point dragging this out any longer than he has to.

“Right… Okay, listen. I heard about the Coach Murray thing. You guys can _not_ go to the police and say that he molested you.”

“Why not?” Liam asks.

_“Because he didn’t molest you!”_ Charlie shouts. He’s surprised at the volume of his own voice. Why does he care so much?

Part of him had hoped Liam would at least have the decency to act ashamed, but of course, he doesn’t. “That’s true,” he admits easily. “But he’s a dick and we hated him.”

Liam turns to stare at Charlie once more, those flat blue eyes empty and menacing all at once.

“This is our chance for revenge. You want in?”

_“NO!”_

Then, a new voice enters, floating into the conversation from somewhere over Charlie’s left shoulder.

“Oh, I think you do.”

Charlie turns to see Ryan come in—just as shirtless as Liam, but at least he’s wearing a bathrobe. He starts wiping down the doorway with wood polish instead of looking at Charlie. Charlie doesn’t mind; he didn’t wanna look at Ryan and his ugly mustache anyway.

“Hello, Charlie,” Ryan offers. Charlie returns the greeting with vinegar.

“I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention the news recently, but there are millions to be made here, my friend.”

Finished with the doorway, Ryan wanders over towards the kitchen, walking behind Charlie’s back as he does. Charlie turns to keep facing him, afraid to let Ryan out of his sight. Something about him is worse than Liam.

“Oh, sure,” Ryan drawls, “There’s the classic route of priest molestation… But we thought we’d mix it up a bit.”

Liam adds, “We’re going after the whole damn school board.” Still gazing at Charlie, he says, “If you wanna join us, we could probably get a nice class action suit going.”

Charlie scoffs outright at that, some of his composure finally returning to him.

“Alright, first off, there are people out there who actually _have_ been molested,” he says. Not that he’d know. Nightmares don’t mean anything. “And you guys are gonna exploit that? For your own personal gain?! You assholes have secured your place in hell!”

Ryan turns and gives Charlie the same flat, dead look that Liam gave him just a few minutes prior.

“We thought about that,” he says. “We’re willing to roll the dice.”

Charlie stands up.

“I won’t let you do it,” he declares, staring resolutely down at Liam. “I’m gonna call the cops.”

Then Liam stands to meet him, and Charlie is reminded again of how short he truly is.

“Oh no you won’t, Charlie,” he hisses, leaning in close to Charlie’s face. His breath is far too hot and—milky?—and Charlie resists the urge to shrink away, afraid of Liam’s bare skin touching him.

“Oh yes I will!” Charlie protests, jerking his head backwards as he does.

“Ohhh, my friend, I’m afraid not,” Ryan laughs from behind Charlie’s back.

“And why not?” Charlie retorts, turning his head to keep an eye on Ryan as he approaches the back of the couch.

“Because we’ll tell the cops the whole thing was your idea.”

Charlie looks back at Liam. Suddenly, he remembers something, and his eyes go wide.

It was so stupid. He was out drinking with some old acquaintances last year, and he’d gotten a little drunker than he meant to—now that he thinks about it, that was probably because the goddamn McPoyles were there.

He’d made a single, drunken joke that Murray was an asshole and that they should sue him for molesting them. And then, he’d made several drunken proclamations that he absolutely wasn’t joking, because he would never joke about that.

Charlie remembers the nightmares he had after finally making it home that night, too. Cat eyes. Sleek hands with claws, holding him down, tearing at his skin… He’d boarded up his closet door the next day.

“Shit,” Charlie breathes. “Shit.”

He stares out the window, desperate for an escape, as Ryan says, “We’d hate to have to pin this whole thing on your shoulders.”

Liam adds, “So you’re gonna have to keep your mouth shut on this one, Charlie. You don’t have to join us, but if anyone asks you point-blank…”

He leans in, and Charlie flinches.

“Your ass got molested,” Liam whispers. “Otherwise we’re talking conspiracy charges.”

He pulls away again, still so _fucking_ impassive, as Charlie fights to calm down his suddenly-panicked breathing.

“Prison can be a bad place for someone like you, Charlie.”

Ryan’s voice is so quiet and sickly-sweet that it’s choking. As Charlie turns to look at him, he suddenly feels a light finger running through his hair. Charlie freezes in place for just a split second, eyes glazing over. He turns back to look at Liam and wonders vaguely if he has lizard eyes like Liam does now.

“A _very_ bad place,” Liam repeats.

Charlie holds himself there for, he thinks, an impressive amount of time.

“Okay,” he finally says, pointedly ignoring how small and weak his voice sounds. He turns and walks out of the apartment.

He keeps walking. He walks down the street.

Only when he makes it to the street corner does Charlie permit himself to run. He runs back towards his apartment, back to someplace safe where he can drink the nightmares away.

Nightmares can happen in the daytime, too… Right?

* * *

Mac adjusts his shorts one last time as he knocks at Coach Murray’s door.

He just _knows_ Dennis is wrong about what happened to Charlie. And this is the best way to prove it.

As Coach Murray opens the door, Mac offers him his widest smile.

“Heeeey, Coach Murray!” he greets. “It’s me, Mac!”

* * *

 

“I just don’t know where this is coming from,” Coach Murray laments as he takes a seat on his couch. Mac stays standing for the moment, stretching his arms to let his too-short shirt ride up on his stomach. After that, he keeps walking, heading for the front window to draw the blinds. All the while, Coach Murray continues.

“I mean, molestation? What the hell did I need that shit for?” he says. “I got so much ass back in those days!”

“God, man, I hear ya,” Mac says, voice sympathetic. He finally comes back over to the couch, stretching again and pulling his shorts just that little bit higher as he sits down right next to Coach Murray.

Murray scoots away as he speaks, prompting Mac to frown to himself.

“I mean, to tell you the truth, I don’t even remember who these assholes are!” Murray says. Mac sighs, nodding his agreement once again.

“Yeah, I mean… Nothing special there, right?” He scoots a little closer once again. “I mean, you’d remember if they were like, _trans_ or something...”

Coach Murray turns to look at Mac.

“What?”

Mac shrugs, giving Coach Murray a shy smile.

“You know, if one of the guys was transgender or whatever. Hard to forget something like that, right?”

“... Sure,” Murray says. He scoots away once more.

Mac decides to push his luck. He follows Murray once again, their thighs bumping together as Mac scoots closer.

“You know, Coach,” Mac says, “I’m actually transgender myself.”

“No shit?” Murray asks. He briefly glances Mac up and down. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. When are you getting the surgery?”

Mac bites back a grimace at Murray’s comment—one of the many things Carmen had told Mac in her breakup rant was that it wasn’t okay to ask trans people about surgery. Mac is going somewhere with this, though, so he doesn’t have time to argue about it now.

“Oh, no, no,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “Other way. Female to male. I’m done transitioning.”

Coach Murray just looks more confused at that, but he accepts it, turning away to stare back at the TV.

“Actually,” Mac continues in a casual tone, “I just got my dick a few months ago.”

“Great.”

Mac pouts to himself. This isn’t working. He quickly decides that, fuck Dennis and his psychobabble and mind games, the best way to get things done is through action.

Mac grabs Murray’s hand and places it on his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch.

“See?” Mac asks. “Feels so real, huh? I’m not the little girl I was when you had me in class…”

Coach Murray slowly turns his head to stare at Mac.

“Son… What in the everloving _shit_ are you doing?”

Mac considers the question, before biting his lip and batting his eyelashes at Murray.

“… What do you want me to do?” he asks, deliberately keeping his voice soft and innocent.

He’s lucky he doesn’t faceplant on the sidewalk when Murray throws him out.

* * *

 

“Guys, guys, I have good neeee-eeeews!” Mac declares in a singsong voice as he proudly walks into the bar, two or three books tucked under one arm. It’s just Dennis and Dee there in the bar, arguing with each other by the pool table. They fall silent as he enters, both of them turning to look at him.

“I just talked to Coach Murray,” Mac says with a grin. “There’s no way he did it.”

Dennis raises an eyebrow.

“Really, Mac?” he asks, and Mac can detect a little note of pride under all the skepticism. “What did he say?”

“Okay, so I pretended to be trans,” Mac starts. Almost immediately, he has to raise his voice to drown out Dennis and Dee’s protests.

“I pretended to be trans, and the guy was totally disgusting about it! He instantly lost all interest in me,” Mac says. “There’s no way a guy like that would have touched Charlie with a ten-foot pole.”

“That doesn’t prove _ANYTHING,_ Mac!” Dee shouts.

“All it proves is that you’re a goddamn idiot!” Dennis adds, his face already red from the yelling. That’s a new record, Mac thinks to himself.

“Why would Coach Murray thinking you’re trans now in _any_  way prove that he didn’t molest Charlie? Think, Mac!”

“Fuck you!” Mac retorts. “Anyways, that’s not all I did today.”

He raises the books from his side and drops them on the counter.

“I’ve been reading up on pedophilia. Turns out it’s not about sex at all—it’s about power!”

“So what?” asks Dee. “We studied psych at Penn, we could have told you that.”

“Soooooo,” Mac says, “Murray was looking for easy targets, right?”

Dennis nods.

“Then he definitely couldn’t have molested Charlie! The kid was a goddamn _animal_ when we were little. All you had to do was get him mad and he would start foaming at the mouth and trying to bite everything. Murray wouldn’t put his dick anywhere near Charlie, trust me.”

“Then what about the McPoyles?” Dee asked.

“Oh, they were pussies,” Mac laughed. “Yeah, Murray totally molested them.”

“Mac, what’s your point?” Dennis sounds tired as he asked it.

“My point _is,”_ Mac says, smiling wide, “Charlie’s just trans because he’s trans! He wasn’t molested at all.”

For a long moment, Dennis and Dee just stare at him. Then Dennis breaks into a broad, bright smile.

“Oh, Mac,” he says.

“ _Sure_ he wasn’t.”

“Yeah, real cute that you tried, Mac.” Dee sneers as she reaches out to pat Mac on the arm. “But let the grown-ups do this, okay?”

Mac pouts.

“Would you guys _please_ just let me help? He’s my friend too, you know!”

“Oh, you wanna help?” Dee asks. When Mac nods, she says, “If you wanna help, bring Charlie to his mom’s house tomorrow, okay? Because…”

Dee turns, her attention now focused squarely on Dennis.

“I’m calling the shots now, because being subtle isn’t working.”

Dee grins, a grin Mac recognizes as the one she only gets when she’s hatching a truly evil idea.

“We’re gonna stage an intervention, boners.”

* * *

 

Charlie is still sat on his couch that evening, well on his way to drinking himself unconscious. It’s not really helping to make the nightmares go away, but at least if he’s asleep, it’ll make sense that he’s _having_ nightmares.

Then, through his boozy haze, he becomes aware that his phone is ringing. He fumbles for it and finally manages to pick it up off the couch cushion, holding it to his ear.

“Y’ello?” he slurs.

“Charlie?”

He’s pleased to hear Mac’s voice on the other side. It seems like they never just talk anymore.

“Mac!” Charlie exclaims, more of an announcement than a greeting. “Hey, buddy!”

“Heeey, Charlie,” Mac says. “Listen, what are you doing tomorrow?”

Charlie frowns as he thinks about it. What _is_ he doing tomorrow? … Probably just more drinking and worrying about the nightmares. Cleaning out the basement at the bar, maybe.

“Nothin’,” Charlie says. “Why?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to hang out,” Mac replies. He sounds kind of shy as he says it. “Dee and Dennis are going to a thing, and I figured, it’s been awhile since just you and I hung out…”

Charlie smiles at that. Mac is always so sweet to him.

“Yeh, man,” Charlie answers. He slowly lets himself flop over into a lying position on his couch. It feels pretty nice—maybe he’ll just leave it like this tonight instead of folding out the futon.

“Awesome!” Mac says. “I’m excited, dude.”

“Yeah,” Charlie repeats.

For a moment, there’s just silence on the line. Mac is just starting to say goodbye when Charlie suddenly cuts him off.

“Mac, wait… Don’t hang up.”

“Uh, okay.” Some distant, sober corner of Charlie’s brain guesses he can’t blame Mac for sounding confused. “What is it, dude?”

Charlie hesitates. It takes him a second to decide he’s comfortable enough (or just drunk enough) to say it.

“I’m havin’, like, Nightman dreams again, Mac.”

He can hear Mac quietly suck in a breath.

“Oh, Charlie… Do you want me to come over?”

Charlie hadn’t realized until now just how badly he wants Mac to come over.

“…Yeah.”

* * *

 

Mac arrives an hour later, already wearing his pajamas and carrying a pizza box.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, coming to sit next to Charlie on the couch and setting the box on the coffee table. For once, Charlie doesn’t mind the contact, eagerly scooting closer as he claims a slice of pizza.

“Hey, Mac,” he mumbles around a bite of pizza. “Thanks fer comin’.”

Mac nods and smiles as he wraps an arm around Charlie’s shoulder. Charlie finds that he doesn’t really mind that, either.

“No problem, Charlie.”

He gives Charlie a faux scowl, baring his teeth and raising his fist.

“Someone’s gotta keep the Nightman away, right?”

Charlie laughs. The Nightman almost stops being scary when Mac does stuff like that.

“Yeah,” he says, and Mac’s expression falls back into that same, soft little smile.

“You want me to stay the night?” he asks.

Charlie nods.

* * *

 

Morning finds the two of them lying on the sofa, Charlie nestled on top of Mac—they never did make it to unfolding the futon. Charlie actually passed out not long after Mac got there, all that beer and pizza finally getting to him.

Even with Mac there, though, it had been a rough night. Charlie couldn’t stop shaking as those terrible claws tore him down to his soul all night long.

Today doesn’t seem like it’s gonna be much better, judging by the pounding ache in Charlie’s head when he wakes up. He whines and grumbles to himself, burying his face in Mac’s shoulder.

That helps a little. They don’t get to cuddle like this anymore, either, the way they did when they were kids. Which is too bad, because it apparently still does make Charlie feel better.

“Mac, wake up,” Charlie grumbles, poking a sleepy hand into his ribs. “We gotta hang out today.”

Mac frowns, brows furrowing as he mumbles in protest.

“Shut up, we are hanging out.”

“No, dude!” Charlie’s poking becomes more insistent until, finally, Mac is forced to open his eyes.

“You said we were gonna do stuff today,” Charlie says. “What’s stuff?”

Mac sighs and sits up, Charlie shifting to sit in his lap.

“Stuff is me keepin’ you away from Dee and Dennis, dude,” Mac says, rubbing at his eyes.

“What?” Mac hadn’t mentioned that last night.

‘They wanna make you go to some bullshit intervention,” Mac explains. “Your whole family is gonna be at your mom’s today. I told Dee I’d bring you there.”

Charlie frowns. His whole family? But that means…

“I can’t go, Mac,” Charlie says. He clings to Mac’s shoulders, hiding his face in Mac’s neck once more.

“I know, buddy,” Mac says around a yawn. “That’s why I said I’d take you. I’m not gonna let them make you go, don’t worry.”

Charlie looks up at Mac.

“You’d do that for me?” he asks.

Mac gives him a sleepy smile.

“’Course I would,” he says.

“Anything for my best friend.”

Charlie smiles and nestles against Mac, letting his eyes fall shut again.

“…Thanks.”

“Of course, Charlie.”

Mac lies down once again, pulling Charlie down with him in his drowsy state.

“It’s too early. We’ll do something else later today, okay?”

Charlie doesn’t answer—he’s already asleep again.

“Something better,” Mac murmurs as he drifts off to sleep as well.

* * *

 

Something better, it turns out, is Mac and Charlie going to the police station together that afternoon. While Mac gives him a thumbs-up from the lobby, Charlie heads back to consult a detective, swallowing back his nervousness.

He tells him all about the McPoyles and Coach Murray and his drunken joke. Thankfully, the detective only cares about the first two things.

He even lets Mac and Charlie come with him to watch him arrest Liam and Ryan.

* * *

 

That evening, the two of them are playing pool in the bar over drinks, celebrating their victory, when the twins storm in.

“Mac, what the hell?!” Dee demands. “You made me look like a fucking asshole! Didn’t you or Charlie get any of our calls?”

“Oh, we got ‘em,” Mac replies, grinning as he sinks the 4 ball.

“Then why the _fuck_ didn’t you bring Charlie?!” Dennis asks. “I thought you wanted to help him!”

“I did wanna help him!” Mac answers. He straightens up, looking Dennis in the eye and smiling.

“That’s why I took Charlie to the police station and helped him put the McPoyles in jail.”

Dennis looks confused at this development.

“What?”

“Yeah,” Mac says. Charlie smiles too, coming over to stand next to Mac and leaning against his pool cue.

“Turns out they told Charlie that they were lying,” Mac explained. “So all he had to do was tell that to the detective, and now the McPoyles are gonna get molested _for real_ in prison!”

Mac and Charlie laugh and high five each other, which just prompts Dennis to get angrier.

“What? No!” he says. “That wasn’t the problem! We were having the intervention for Charlie because he got molested, remember? And that’s why he’s trans! We gotta help him through his trauma—“

“What, dude?” Charlie scoffs. “That’s bullshit, man. I didn’t get molested. I’m trans because I’m trans, fuck off.”

“I...”

But Dennis is out of words. He just storms off to the bar in silence, pouring himself a tall glass of beer.

“I knew it!” Dee says suddenly, prompting all three of the guys to look at her. “I knew the intervention was a horrible idea. I told you not to do it, Dennis.”

_“Oh, FUCK YOU, DEE!”_ Dennis screams. He takes a long drink of his beer and stomps out of the bar, slamming the front door behind him.

That, of course, just prompts Mac and Charlie to laugh harder.

It’s almost enough to make Charlie forget about the cat eyes still glaring, glaring at him in the back of his mind, the clawed hands waiting for the perfect moment to reach out and grab him.


	12. charlie gets a roommate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As happy as Charlie is about Frank moving in, it presents a series of unique challenges that need to be addressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place between Charlie Gets Crippled and The Gang Gets Jihad, hence Charlie spending all of it in a wheelchair.
> 
> Be warned-- this chapter contains mentions of abuse, homophobic language, and toxic patriarchal ideology, all courtesy of Frank.

Charlie had never been a huge fan of Frank Reynolds.

Granted, he didn’t talk to or even see him much growing up—he was almost always away on some sort of business trip, and when he _was_ home in the Reynolds manor, he was usually drinking or fighting with Barbara. Charlie didn’t see much point in engaging with a guy like that, not when he’d had a lifetime of broken homes and shitty parents already.

So Charlie was just as surprised as everyone else was when he agreed to let Frank move in with him.

In his defense, it was mostly because of the money. Even if it _was_ only for 6 months, it was nice to know Charlie wouldn’t have to worry about paying his rent for awhile. (He really didn’t think threatening Hwang at gunpoint would work twice.)

It just sucked that nobody else in the Gang was being very understanding of that.

“You _what?”_ Dennis asks at the bar a few days later, the four of them sitting around moping in their various injuries. Frank is nowhere to be seen—as he dropped Charlie off at the bar that morning, he had mentioned something about going to the courthouse to work on his divorce papers with Barbara.

“Look, dude, he’s paying my rent!” Charlie retorts. “I’m not drowning in money like you guys are!”

Mac cuts in, “We _aren’t_ drowning in money, Charlie! Not after our medical bills!”

“Shut the hell up, Mac!” Dennis shifts his glower from Charlie to Mac. “I was paying our rent on my own in the first place! I’m the one who paid _your_ medical bills!”

“Aw, whatever.” Mac waves a dismissive hand in Dennis’ direction—for once, it seems, he doesn’t feel like getting into it with Dennis. Dee just snickers, though Charlie isn’t sure why. After the strip club incident, it’s not like _she’s_ any better off than the rest of them are.

“Anyways,” Mac continues, turning to regard Charlie with a tilted head. “I gotta say, I’m with Dennis on this one, dude. Are you sure you wanna live with Frank?”

“I mean, it’s too late now, right?” Charlie replies. “He’s already moved in.”

Charlie’s pretty sure Frank’s moved in, at least. He brought over a single, ancient leather suitcase of clothes the other day.

“Besides, I can’t afford rent, dude. And it’s not like _you_ guys have any money I can borrow.”

“Not that we’d give it to you if we did,” Dee interjects, prompting Dennis to nod in agreement. Mac ignores her comment, though, frowning at Charlie instead.

“I mean, I get it, dude,” he says. “But… is he gonna be cool with you?”

“What do you mean, is he gonna be cool with me?” Charlie asks with a chuckle. “We’ve been hanging out for like four days now, dude, and we get along just fine.”

Mac bites his lip.

“That’s uh, not what I meant.”

Mac stares at Charlie, eyes wide and puppyish with concern. When Charlie shifts his gaze away from him, maybe just a few seconds too late, he finds Dennis and Dee staring at him as well, wearing matching frowns of concern and raised eyebrows.

Only then does Charlie realize what Mac means.

“Oh, shit, dude.”

In the wake of all the chaos of the past few days, on top of the fact that Charlie can’t exactly change his pants until he gets his casts off, it occurs to Charlie that he has no idea if Frank knows. He’d been changing his shirts in the morning, while Frank was still asleep.

“I don’t know.”

Mac and Dee share a look of worry between them, while Dennis just snorts derisively.

“Trust me, Charlie. You don’t wanna find out.”

Charlie frowns at that.

“Why not?”

Dennis gives him a wide grin. Charlie can’t see a single trace of mirth in it, though.

“He hit me when he found out I wore makeup in high school. And I’m not even trans.”

The whole bar falls into silence then, and everyone turns to focus on Dennis.

“Dennis, you never told me,” Dee says, and for once, she actually sounds sincere in her concern. Dennis shrugs, his smile falling with his shoulders.

“Wouldn’t have mattered,” he said simply. “It’s not like you could’ve done anything. Besides, you were always busy fighting with Mom, remember?”

Everyone is quiet. Charlie stares at the floor, gnawing at his lip, as Mac throws his bottle back and Dee silently slides another beer across the bar counter to Dennis. Dennis finishes his open drink and starts on the next one in one quick, fluid movement. When he puts the second bottle down, he laughs, apparently back to normal.

“Anyways, Charlie, you better be careful. Dad’s not a nice guy, no matter how nice his money is.”

“Yeah.” Charlie huffs, a humorless little chuckle.

“No shit.”

* * *

 

On the way out of the bar that evening, Charlie is surprised to find Mac waiting for him—he’d been hovering around Dennis ever since that bombshell he dropped earlier. Now it’s just Mac, though, no sign of Dennis or Dee.

“Hey, man,” Charlie greets. Brows furrowed in confusion, he tilts his head at Mac.

“What are you still doing here?”

Mac shrugs.

“I dunno, man. Thought maybe you’d want some company.”

Charlie has never said no to Mac keeping him company.

Mac falls into step next to Charlie’s wheelchair as he rolls away from Paddy’s and around the street corner—not to Mac’s apartment, and not to Charlie’s. They’re just wandering, the way they did when they were kids.

“Where are you staying tonight?” Mac asks a few minutes and two alleyways later, as the two of them meander the sunset-cast streets. Charlie grunts as he negotiates around an errant rock in his path.

“Dunno.”

Mac nods—he must have been expecting that answer, Charlie thinks.

“You know our couch is always open.”

It’s just a statement, not a suggestion, the way it would be coming from anyone else. Still, Charlie grumbles in response. He doesn’t want to give Dennis the satisfaction of knowing his little scare tactic actually worked.

Besides, then Charlie would have to admit to himself that he really is scared of what Frank will say.

Mac, apparently, isn’t satisfied with that.

“I’m not gonna let you sleep in the alleyway again, Charlie. There’s been muggers around. And dogs. You gotta sleep _somewhere._ ”

“Would you quit ridin’ me, man?” Charlie retorts. That shuts Mac right up—Charlie only takes a glance up in his direction, but his face even looks a bit flushed.

After a second of feeling equal parts satisfied and guilty as he wheels down the street, Charlie sighs.

“C’mon, let’s get back,” he says. “Frank’s probably wonderin’ where I am.”

Charlie can feel the disapproval radiating from Mac, but his companion doesn’t say a word.

* * *

 

Mac insists upon escorting Charlie to his door, on the grounds that his apartment building is only marginally safer than the back-alley shortcuts they took to get there. It’s true, but Charlie wishes everyone would stop babying him just because he’s stuck in a wheelchair.

When they reach his apartment door, though, Charlie has to admit he’s glad Mac came with him.

“G’night, dude,” Mac says, at the same time Charlie asks, “Hey, Mac?”

Mac looks surprised at the interruption. “What is it?”

Charlie sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“Um… I think I wanna tell Frank tonight,” he says.

“Oh, shit, dude. Really?” Mac’s eyes are wide. Charlie nods, hoping the action looks more confident than he feels.

“Yeah. I may as well get it over with, you know?” Charlie offers Mac a small smile as he chuckles.

The question goes unasked, but Mac thankfully picks up on it anyways.

“Do you want me to hang around…?” he asks. “Just in case.”

Charlie tries to look surprised, like that wasn’t what he was planning on this whole time.

“Oh, would you?” he replies. “I mean… Yeah. Yeah, that’d be cool.”

“Cool,” Mac echoes. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Um…”

Charlie takes a second to think. It might tip Frank off that things were gonna get weird, Charlie thinks, if Mac came in with him.

“Just stay out here?” Charlie asks, looking up at Mac from his chair. “I’ll leave the door unlocked, and like… I’ll use the Pigeon Boys signal if I need you for anything, okay?”

That gets a smile out of Mac, which in turn relieves some of the stress tension bunching up in Charlie’s shoulders. The “Pigeon Boys signal” is nothing more than a holdover from their childhood games—the loudest, most obnoxious pigeon cooing imaginable.

“Sounds good, dude.” Mac offers Charlie a thumbs-up. Charlie returns the gesture.

“So… If I don’t give the signal in ten minutes, it’s probably okay,” he says. Frank’s old and, by this hour, most likely drunk; he probably isn’t much of a threat. Probably.

Still, Charlie is nervous as he turns his key in the lock and wheels into his apartment.

Much as he expected, Frank is sprawled out on the couch in a rumpled dress shirt, his pants cast aside onto the floor and a bottle in his hand.

“Charlie, there y’are!” he exclaims with a smile. “I was gettin’ worried about ya, kid.”

“Yeah, I’m home,” Charlie replies, smiling despite himself. Frank always seems so genuinely happy to see him. Even if it is a trick like Dennis says, it’s a damn good one.

“How was shit today, Frank?”

“Shit was shit,” Frank says. Charlie nods in understanding and rolls over to the minifridge to grab a beer of his own as Frank continues.

“My dumb whore—“ he says that word so funny, Charlie thinks, _hoor_ “—wife is tryin’ to bleed me dry. She’s a goddamn leech, Charlie.”

“That’s a bummer, dude.” Charlie cracks open his bottle on the fridge.

“You’re tellin’ me.” Frank grunts and props his socked feet onto the small bit of coffee table still visible under the mounds of garbage that cover it. Charlie really needs to clean.

“How was the bar today?” Frank asks.

“Oh, you know.” Charlie shrugs and gestures with his beer. “Not very busy. Good thing, too, since we’re all still fucked up from the strip club.”

Frank laughs at that.

“Damn, that was fun,” he says.

“Yeah,” Charlie agrees with another small laugh. This small talk is nice, but it’s just making him nervous again about what he needs to say.

Thankfully, there’s a brief lull in the conversation then, so Charlie jumps right in.

“Um, hey Frank?” he starts. Frank grunts in acknowledgement, turning his focus from the television to Charlie. Charlie wishes he hadn’t.

“There’s somethin’ you gotta know about me… If you’re gonna be my roommate…” Charlie trails off, already nervous. Fuck. Maybe he _should_ have asked Mac to come in with him.

“Ah, shit,” Frank says. “Do ya got AIDS, kid?”

“What?!” Charlie exclaims. “No, I don’t have AIDS, Frank! Jesus!”

“Oh, thank God.” Frank turns his focus back to the TV once again. “What is it, then?”

“It’s, uh…”

This was a horrible idea. Does Frank even know what trans people _are?_ He’s pretty old, Charlie thinks. And as violent as he got about Dennis back in the day…

Still, it’s too late now. And Mac is just a pigeon coo away.

“I’m trans. Transgender,” Charlie says.

Frank looks back at him again, and Charlie wishes desperately that he weren’t still stuck in a wheelchair.

“Transgender,” Frank repeats.

“…So how much is it gonna cost to get your tits?”

“I—“ That was the last thing Charlie was expecting Frank to say.

“What?”

“Isn’t that what ya do when you’re transgender?” Frank asks. “Ya get your tits done and then ya get your dick chopped off, right?”

When Charlie realizes what Frank means, it’s all he can do not to laugh.

“I… I mean, yeah,” Charlie says, “but that’s not me. I’m going the other way.”

Frank’s gaze turns a little more scrutinizing as he studies Charlie. Finally, after what feels like forever to Charlie, he says, “No shit? I wouldn’t have guessed. Ya look real to me, kid.”

From anyone else, that would feel almost insulting—but from someone as old as Frank, that’s a goddamn _gift._

“Thanks, man,” Charlie laughs. “So… so you’re cool with it?”

Frank nods and grunts to the affirmative.

“As long as you keep your dick away from me,” he says. Charlie laughs again at that.

“No worries. I don’t have one.”

“No shit?” Frank asks again.

“Well, how much is _that_ gonna cost?”

Charlie shrugs, still laughing as he wheels over to join Frank on the couch.

“I have no idea.”

Outside the apartment, Mac finally stands from his position stooped with his ear to the door. He turns to head home, wearing a wide smile.

* * *

 

Charlie rolls into the bar the next morning still in good spirits. He finds that he’s beaten everyone else there for once, so he takes the time to organize the office (to the best of his ability—he really can’t do his job as a janitor as long as he’s in the chair) and turn on the bar’s sign. Once that’s done, he pours himself a beer and mills around at the counter, waiting for the rest of the Gang to arrive.

Usually, the rest of them walk in as a unit, some combination of Dennis, Mac, and Dee. Today, though, Dennis walks in alone. He looks surprisingly gloomy to Charlie—the shadows under his eyes look more pronounced than usual. Maybe he skipped his makeup or something.

“Charlie,” he offers in greeting, as he walks to the bar to get a drink of his own. “You’re here early.”

“Mornin’, dude,” Charlie replies. “Yeah, Frank dropped me off on his way to the courthouse again.”

“Isn’t that nice.”

Maybe it’s just because Dennis has turned away from Charlie to use the tap, but he sounds more hostile than usual.

Charlie receives confirmation that it _wasn’t_ just because he was turned away, though, when Dennis turns back to face him and continues, just as cold, “So how _is_ living with my dear old dad? Have you told him yet?”

“Um, yeah.”

Charlie tugs at his ear.

“I told him last night, actually.”

Dennis raises an eyebrow, some trace of the chill in his expression thawing.

“You did?” he asked. Apparently, he hadn’t been expecting Charlie to actually say yes.

“…What happened?”

Charlie shrugs.

“He was cool with it, man.”

The ice in Dennis’ eyes shatters, and Charlie can see a deep, lost sea in them for the briefest moment before they freeze back over.

“He was?”

Dennis’ voice is flat. At this point, it seems unwise to Charlie to keep talking, especially without Mac present… But the way Dennis is staring at him, he doesn’t think he has much choice.

“Yeah, he was. He thought I meant I was a woman at first… But he didn’t really care, even when I explained to him.”

Dennis takes a drink. Charlie thinks he keeps the mug to his lips just a bit too long for this early in the day.

“Well,” Dennis spits, once he’s swallowed back his beer, “good for you, Charlie. I’m glad Dad’s so accepting of you.”

Then he turns on his heel and stalks off to the office, slamming the door behind him. Charlie winces as he’s left alone at the bar.

* * *

 

A few days later, Mac is helping Charlie clean the bathroom when he suddenly says, “You gotta talk to Frank about Dennis, dude.”

“What?” Charlie asks. Where did that come from? “Why?”

Mac pauses his work to lean against his mop, sucking on his bottom lip a moment before answering. Charlie watches him intently, forgetting for a moment all about the sponge in his hand and the urinal he was working on.

“Den’s been weird ever since you and Frank started living together,” Mac explains.

“He won’t talk to me about it… But I think it’s because he’s jealous of you.”

Charlie bites back the urge to laugh.

“Dennis is jealous of _me?”_

Mac frowns, apparently displeased that Charlie doesn’t believe him.

“It makes sense, don’t you think? That’s Dennis’ _dad,_ Charlie. He _beat_ Dennis just for wearing makeup as a kid, and now he’s completely okay with you being trans?”

Charlie frowns right back at Mac.

“That's not my problem!” he exclaims. “I can’t help it if Frank was an asshole back in the day, dude. Can’t we just be happy that he didn’t try to kill me?”

Mac’s eyebrows draw together, his frown deepening to something more akin to a scowl.

“I think you and I both know that child abuse is different than just being an asshole, Charlie.”

Charlie ducks his head and stays quiet. They don’t talk much about their childhoods anymore.

“Can’t you just put yourself in Dennis’ shoes for a minute?” Mac asks, his voice softening again. “He feels like it’s not fair that you got accepted by his dad for the same thing that he got hit for.”

Sullenly, Charlie points out, “It’s not the same thing, though.”

He looks up to see Mac offer him a small shrug.

“I know that,” he says. “But… Well, you aren’t exactly like most guys, you know? And… Dennis isn’t, either. It’s _kind of_ the same thing.”

Charlie sighs.

“… I guess,” he finally admits. Mac leans forward on his mop, watching Charlie with big eyes.

“So you’ll talk to Frank?”

“Yeah,” Charlie says with another tired sigh.

“Yeah, I’ll talk to Frank.”

The smile Mac gives him almost makes it worth it.

* * *

 

That night finds Charlie and Frank sprawled on the couch next to each other, drinking beer and watching old cartoons. It’s becoming something of a nightly habit for them.

After a few minutes spent shooting the shit and sharing stories of their days—Frank seems to be getting close to closing his divorce proceedings, which means he’ll start hanging out at the bar soon—Charlie decides it’s time to make good on his earlier promise to Mac.

“So hey, man,” he starts, looking over at Frank.

“What’s the deal with you and Dennis?”

“Whaddaya mean?” Frank asks. “Dennis is my son. He’s a smart kid, I just wish he’d apply himself. If Barbara hadn’t gotten her lousy hooks in him so early…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie says, quickly silencing Frank with a wave of his beer bottle. He really doesn’t need the whole sordid Reynolds family history laid out for him.

“It’s just... You seem like you like Dee more?” Charlie prompts. He’s not at all sure how to navigate this conversation—emotional family talk has never been something he’s excelled at.

Frank huffs.

“Well, _someone_ had to. Barbara made Deandra’s life a living hell for no goddamn reason from day one. I think she wanted both of them to be boys,” he says. “That’s why she babied Dennis so much, I think.”

Then, with a scoff, Frank adds, “Lotta good that did her. Ya know what happens when ya make your son a mama’s boy, right?”

Charlie shakes his head, sitting in silence. The way Frank is talking, maybe Charlie won’t even need to guide the conversation where it needs to go. Charlie idly wonders how many beers Frank had before he got home from the bar.

“He turns into a fag,” Frank continues. Charlie throws back another drink to hide his automatic wince at the word.

“Did that happen to Dennis?” Charlie asks once he’s lowered his bottle.

“It would have if I hadn’t stepped in,” Frank answers, his voice as flat and matter-of-fact as if they were discussing the weather.

“He still wears makeup… But it woulda been worse if I hadn’t knocked it outta him when he was still in high school.”

Charlie can see now why Dennis hates Frank so much. He hates Frank _for_ Dennis right now. This side of Frank revealed, Charlie is almost afraid to keep talking… But he knows he needs to. Even though he can’t pigeon coo for Mac to rescue him this time.

“…What makes me any different, Frank?” Charlie asks.

“Hah?”

Frank turns to look at him, the confusion plain on his face.

“I just…” How had Mac put it earlier that day?

“I’m not exactly a normal guy, Frank,” Charlie says. “Some people think I’m not a guy _at all._ So… Why am I different than Dennis?”

Frank is quiet as Charlie continues, “Even if Dennis does wear makeup or… did whatever it was he did in high school… At least he’s still a ‘real man’ or whatever, right? Shouldn’t you hate me more?”

Charlie bites his lip as he waits for Frank to answer him, desperately hoping that he hasn’t just ruined everything. Thankfully—at least, Charlie _thinks_ he should be thankful—Frank’s voice is calm when he answers.

“Nah. It’s not like that, Charlie.”

Frank sighs and continues, “You just don’t get it 'cause ya grew up as a girl. It’s okay for you to be a man, 'cause that’s better than being a woman. Nobody’s gonna blame you for that.”

Charlie can’t stop the deep, angry scowl from creeping onto his face. Still, Frank keeps talking.

“But if you’re born a man? Ya got the biggest slice of the pie right from the start. So why would ya wanna throw that away by acting like a woman, prancin' around wearin' makeup and gettin' your clothes tailored and shit?”

Frank takes a drink.

“Believe me, Charlie,” he says as he puts the bottle down. “I did Dennis a favor.”

“Fuck you, man,” Charlie suddenly spits. Frank actually has the audacity to look surprised as Charlie climbs into his wheelchair and rolls over to the other side of the room.

“Charlie?” Frank calls, but Charlie doesn’t turn around.

“If you wanna keep living here, you’re gonna call Dennis and apologize tomorrow. Or you’re gonna go apologize to him in person,” Charlie growls. In his head, he’s bashing rats, and all of them have Frank’s face.

“You’re really gonna kick me out over somethin’ that happened twelve years ago?” Frank asks incredulously. “Ya can’t even afford this place without me!”

“You heard me,” Charlie repeats.

There’s silence behind Charlie for what feels like ages. Finally, he hears Frank sigh.

“…Fine, Charlie,” Frank says. “Fine. If it’ll make ya feel better, I’ll talk to Dennis.”

“Good,” Charlie says.

He makes no move to return to the couch.

* * *

 

The next day, Charlie doesn’t see Dennis around the bar much. He’s there, but he’s mostly staying in the office, only coming out occasionally to talk to Mac or to refill his drink. Dee and Mac are hovering around as usual, though, all of them pretending to work in the stunning lack of business they’re getting.

At the end of the day, once the twins have already left and Charlie is getting ready to do the same, Mac invites him over that night. It’s his and Dennis’ movie night, Mac explains, but tonight they agreed to let Charlie come along as well. They’re just watching Predator again—from what little Charlie has heard about this jealously-guarded tradition, they _always_ watch Predator—but there’s more free beer and free pizza, which Charlie will never say no to.

When Charlie arrives at their apartment that night, he’s surprised to see Dennis open the door.

“Hey, Charlie,” Dennis greets. He even offers him a small smile this time, one that feels almost genuine.

“Hey, man,” Charlie replies. He wheels his way inside when Dennis steps aside for him.

As he maneuvers his wheelchair into a comfortable spot next to the couch, Dennis explains, “You just missed Mac. He went out to the video store to pick up the movie.”

Charlie scoffs at that.

“You guys seriously _still_ rent Predator every week? Wouldn’t it be cheaper just to buy it?”

Dennis huffs and throws up his hands in exasperation as he sits down in his armchair, but he’s still wearing that same small smile.

“You’d think,” he says. “Mac insists that the video store rental is a vital part of movie night, though.”

“Sounds like Mac,” Charlie replies with a chuckle.

“Yeah,” Dennis agrees. Charlie detects a small note of fondness in his voice as he repeats, “Yeah, sounds like Mac.”

Silence stretches between them then. After a moment, Dennis turns to Charlie, eyes suddenly sharp and inquisitive.

“Hey, Charlie,” he starts. “Did you talk to Frank about anything lately?”

“Huh?” It’s always been Charlie’s instinct to play dumb when Dennis asks him things like that, and this is no exception. “No. Why?”

Dennis never catches on.

“Oh. I just… I dunno. Just asking.”

Dennis bites his lip and looks down at his hands, gently wringing each other in his lap. He frowns at them, as though they'd started moving of their own accord, and takes a moment to still their movements. Then he picks up the TV remote and turns on some football game—idle noise, Charlie thinks, to fill the space between them until Mac’s return.

Between downs, Dennis says, “Hey, about the other day…”

“Yeah?” Charlie asks, watching Dennis and not the television.

Dennis sighs.

“… I may have gotten a bit snappy to you about Dad.”

Charlie raises an eyebrow. Is Dennis Reynolds really going to apologize to him?

“… You didn’t do anything to deserve that,” Dennis continues. _Damn,_ Charlie thinks. So close to an apology, and yet still so far.

“It’s just… weird seeing Dad around again like this, y’know? It’s weird.”

“Yeah,” Charlie agrees. Even regardless of what happened between Frank and Dennis all those years ago, Charlie thinks it _would_ be weird to have your parents suddenly enter your friend group. It’d be like his mom moving in with Dennis. “It’s pretty weird.”

“But…” Dennis pauses. “I’m glad he’s cool with you, man. Really I am.”

“Thanks, Dennis,” Charlie replies. Dennis looks over then, and the two of them share a brief smile.

Then Mac barges into the apartment, DVD case in one hand and a pizza box in the other.

“I’m hooooooooooome!” he announces, just in case anyone missed the memo.


End file.
